


Recipe for Success

by UnseenLibrarian



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-16
Updated: 2011-09-16
Packaged: 2017-10-23 18:35:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/253611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnseenLibrarian/pseuds/UnseenLibrarian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fred and George are seeking a special book to help them in their creation of a new Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes treat. Madam Irma Pince, the Hogwarts Librarian, thwarts them at every turn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Direct Approach

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story came to me as I was fantasizing about being the librarian at Hogwarts. I certainly wouldn't be like Madam Pince, refusing to allow anyone access to knowledge. But one does have to admire her dogged determination as self-appointed guardian of the library's collection, especially when facing the creative chaos that is the Weasley twins.

"You want _WHICH_ book _?_ " hissed the indignant librarian, her whisper barely audible as she gritted her teeth. Madam Pince glared at the twins and said, "That book is in the Restricted Section, for good reason!" Fred and George Weasley both took an involuntary step backward.

"We will be very careful with it! We just want to take a quick peek," exclaimed Fred. George chimed in, "You know, for research purposes!"

At those words, Madam Pince's thin frame unfolded upwards and her nostrils flared. With a quick flick of her wrist, her wand appeared in her hand and she leveled it at the nearest twin. Her menacing whisper seared the twins' eardrums as she stated, "'All students seeking access to Restricted Section books must have a signed note from a teacher. No exceptions.' Get out! NOW!"

Fred narrowly avoided the hex that Madam Pince aimed in his direction and ran for the library exit, George hot on his heels. "Nice going, George," snickered Fred as he dodged a small group of confused first years.

George huffed as he sprinted past his brother, "Hey, you'd think a librarian would want to _help_ a student further his quest for knowledge!"

"We should have known she wouldn't fall for it. We've not done real 'research' in our seven years at Hogwarts. Why would we start now?" Fred muttered, glancing back over his shoulder to see the livid librarian raising her wand again, scowling after the retreating twins. He yelped and dived out the doors after his brother, finally out of range of Madam Pince's wrath.

The Weasley twins looked at each other. Bent over and panting for breath, as one they burst into laughter. Slinging their arms around each other's shoulders, Fred and George waved cheerily through the doorway at the sour-faced librarian and made their way back to Gryffindor Tower to continue to scheme.

 **  
**

* * *

Fred and George didn't admit defeat. They simply acknowledged that some situations were more challenging than others. This made victory all the sweeter. The twins flopped down on their dorm beds and began to mull over their options to get past Madam Pince's formidable defenses.

"Okay," began George, his head dangling upside-down over the edge of his mattress. "Plan A: The Direct Approach – crash and burn on that one, Fred."

Fred walked his feet up the wall at the head of his bed as he replied, "Yeah. Not surprisingly, that plan didn't work out so well." He tried to perform a headstand but fell over face-first into his pillows. He rolled to his side and said, waving a finger in the air, "Now for Plan B: Beg for the Good Graces of Granger." George, red-faced, nodded his head.

Fred started to speak but George held up a hand in warning. The brothers pricked their ears as running footsteps sounded on the stairs. They grew louder and louder until the door opened to reveal Lee Jordan, who threw his books down on the floor by his trunk. "Fred, George! What in Merlin's name happened at the library?" He sprawled across his bed. "I was in there chatting up some fifth year Hufflepuff girls – and doing quite well I might add! - when you two arrived and all hell broke loose! Pince practically burned a hole in the door with her last hex. She was incensed! She threw everyone out and locked down the library for the rest of the day." Lee's easygoing face split into a grin. "Hermione's having a royal fit! She's almost as angry as Pince! Just what did you do to tie Pince's bun in a knot?"

Fred sat up. "Sodding hell. An angry Hermione doesn't exactly help us with Plan B!" He shared a calculating look with George, who was now puce in color and was struggling upright. "I think we need to bring in reinforcements."

George nodded, rubbed his face, and looked gravely at their friend. "Lee, do you solemnly swear that we are up to no good?"

Lee rubbed his hands together and sat cross-legged on his bed, rapt with attention, and replied, "I swear! Lay it on me!"

"Fred? Would you care to explain?" asked George, with a tilt of his head.

Fred smirked and said, "Certainly, dear brother." He turned to Lee. "Lee, our exalted friend, we are seeking the crown jewel for our Wizard Wheezes kingdom!"

Lee looked from Fred to George and back again, non-comprehension clouding his features. "Come again?"

"Here's the thing, Lee," explained Fred, counting items off on his fingers as he recited them. "We know our Skiving Snackboxes are a success with the kids, yeah? Puking Pastilles and Nosebleed Nougat are best-sellers. Fainting Fancies and Fever Fudge pleased all our taste testers."

"And," continued George, holding up two more fingers, "Ton-Tongue Toffees and Canary Creams are a special hit with homework procrastinators."

"Plus, our love potions are going to be a big seller with the ladies, and our Guaranteed Ten-Second Pimple Vanisher will go over a treat with all teenagers," Fred added gleefully.

At this Lee wryly observed, "Yeah, now that the pimples vanish _in_ 10 seconds, instead of vanishing for _only_ 10 seconds _."_

George waved his hand dismissively. "Pish, a small detail. All part of the adventure of invention," he said. "Besides, we tested it on ourselves, and pimples just look like more freckles for us! Anyway, all in all, things look ready for our business to boom, right?"

Lee nodded in vigorous agreement. The twins shook their heads in reply.

" _Wrong!_ " the twins declared in unison. "We need something more!"

Lee cocked a quizzical eyebrow at his friends. "More? More what?"

"We want to provide our fellow young wizards and witches with something to boost their self-confidence levels," replied Fred charitably. "You know, help them feel good about themselves in their awkward teenage years."

"Right, and make scads of Galleons in the process." remarked George. The twins shared identical broad grins.

George continued, "While we ourselves don't suffer from a lack of self-confidence," (at this Lee rolled his eyes and snorted) "We know that plenty of people have self-esteem issues. So, what better way to give them an ego boost than to increase their attractiveness to others?"

Lee raised his eyebrows. "So how would you do that then? Glamour-charmed jewelry of some sort?"

"Nice idea, Lee, and we considered it, but it would be expensive to produce," said George, "Plus wearing jewelry could be problematic. Not everyone wants to saunter down the hallways with people panting after them," his voice trailed off and a thoughtful expression flitted across his face for a moment. "Well, okay, maybe they do, come to think of it, but it isn't always _appropriate_. You'd end up putting on the jewelry and taking it off again constantly. Bound to lose it. No, we want to make something that can be activated on the fly, like our Toffees and Creams."

Fred was nodding. "Right. Something portable and palatable. We want something small, tasty and chewy that will enhance the appeal of our customer when they eat it, for some given length of time at any rate. Everyone around the chewer will gaze hungrily at him-"

" **-** or her-"

"- with admiration and lust! __Voilà__ , instant ego boost," Fred went on. "And thanks to our dogged diligence, we've discovered the existence of the perfect recipe. We just need to acquire it."

Lee, intrigued, rolled to the side of his bed and grabbed three bags of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans from his nightstand. He tossed one to each twin and opened his own. "So, what is this 'perfect recipe'? How can you have discovered it, but not have it?" he asked, munching on a grass-flavoured bean.

Fred popped a likely-looking dark blue bean into his mouth. He made a face. "How dull, blueberry!" he said. He swallowed. "To answer your first question, the captivating confections we crave to create are going to be called," and here George chimed in with his brother,

"' _OGLE FRUITS!'"_

Fred tossed a dark reddish-brown bean into his mouth next and chewed speculatively. "Ah, that's more like it: scab-flavour!"

"Ogle Fruits... ha, that's wicked!" approved Lee. He tried a creamy white bean, thinking it might be coconut. "Eeyuck," he groaned, smacking his lips and tongue in distaste. "Elbow grease!"

"To be honest, we can't actually take credit for the name, it comes with the recipe," George shrugged. He was closely inspecting a greyish, yellowy-green bean. He smelled it, then set it aside. "I'm sure that's bogey-flavoured; I've had one before. Good stuff, nice and salty. I'll save it for Ron." He looked up at Lee. "To answer your second question, we stumbled onto this Ogle Fruit recipe by accident."

As they chewed their beans, the twins told Lee how they'd spent most of summer scouring old potion texts and cookbooks for possible recipes they might convert to their use. Fred bemoaned the fact that: "Mum's cookbook collection was pretty useless - they all focus mostly on hearty family meals, puddings and pastries and the like."

"Good food, but not much for sex appeal," noted George.

"So, we decided to check out the old cookbooks in the kitchen at 12 Grimmauld Place, since we were there a lot and bored out of our skulls otherwise." Fred said.

"Yeah, there is only so much Apparating up- and downstairs one can do, after all!" George remarked a bit glumly.

"I was paging through an old World War II-era wizarding cookbook," Fred continued, "The recipes were meant to help lonely witches secure a husband in those hard times, but they all sounded dead awful." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "I'm glad we don't have rationing now like they did then; the things they tried to make with almost nothing were pitiful! The wizarding world didn't have it any better than the muggles did, apparently." The twin shook his head. "Horrible stuff. I mean, 'Chocolate Lover's Lovers' Fudge' made from carrots? Yuck! But, I found what we were looking for scribbled right there in the margin next to that fudge recipe." Fred beamed and George high-fived him.

Lee waited expectantly. And waited. And waited some more. When the twins didn't seem to be forthcoming with any more information, he burst out, "Well? What did this scribble _say?_ "

The twins stood up and with hands over their hearts, recited from memory with one voice, " _This 'lovers' fudge' is rubbish for increasing attraction. Found much more effective pheromone-enhancing sweets recipe called 'Ogle Fruits' in_ The Joye of Snacks _, by Nanny Ogg_ ; _book_ _banned by Ministry. Most copies lost or destroyed._ "

The brothers sat down again, grinning from ear to ear.

Lee was nonplussed. "Ooookay, so the unknown scribbler mentions 'Ogle Fruits' as a possibly appealing recipe, to be found in a banned book that probably doesn't exist any more? This makes you happy, how?"

"Oh ye of little faith, my friend!" chortled George. "It only said 'most copies', not 'all'. That tells us there is at least one still out there!"

"Right," said Fred, oozing exuberant joy. "All we need to do is track one down."

"Mum was starting dinner, so we asked her if she'd ever heard of _The Joye of Snacks_. She went pale and smacked us both on the bum with her wooden spoon, telling us to get out of the kitchen."

"That means she has heard of it, and she wasn't happy we knew about it." the twins smiled knowingly.

The brothers began pacing the length of the room, passing each other in front of Lee.

George wagged a finger in the air as he said, "So. The question is: how are we going to find a copy of a banned -"

"- if not extinct -"

"- cookbook? The only clues to which are a handwritten note -"

"- from the margin of another cookbook written in the early 1940s -"

"- and the fact that our mother doesn't want to admit to knowing about said book?" finished George. The twins paused, breathlessly. Lee's face brightened as realization dawned.

"Hermione!" the three boys shouted together.

Lee laughed. "If the Gryffindor bookworm can't help you find a book, she'd throw herself off the Astronomy Tower."

Fred and George nodded happily. "That's what we thought. She'd been staying with us at Grimmauld Place. So after finding the mention of the recipe, we went looking for her -"

"- found her in the library of course -"

"- and asked her if she'd ever heard of the book. You should have seen her eyes light up," George shook his head. "It is a bit unnerving, really."

"She _had_ heard the title, and thought she'd even seen it before." Fred said. "She did a little digging through her old textbooks and found _The Joye of Snacks_ mentioned in a chapter of one of Lockhart's books, if you can believe it. He apparently set great store by it for the romantic dinners that he supposedly cooked for dozens of witches. Gushed on and on about how he'd satisfied many a witch with the recipes in _The Joye of Snacks_."

Lee snorted. "Yeah, sure he did. What I can't believe is Hermione's still got those useless pieces of rot Lockhart called books! Lucky for you two, eh?"

George waggled his eyebrows. "Hey, the chapter was really racy! Hermione was blushing horribly once she found that section of his book. The pages were creased and worn too. She'd obviously read it a fair few times!"

"And," Fred chuckled, "Mum's _also_ read that book of Lockhart's over and over. She's always fancied him, even though he's become a complete ignoramus now. So, she already knew what _The Joye of Snacks_ could lead to when we asked. We think that's why Mum went spare!" He and George rolled their eyes at the memory and shook their heads at each other.

"Anyway, Hermione, bless her big brain, told us that after Lockhart took that one-way trip down Memory Lane, all of his books and papers and such-like that had been left behind in his office were put in the library collection at Hogwarts," finished George. "Hermione – her memory really _is_ scary, you know? - actually remembered seeing the book sitting on Lockhart's desk in the DADA classroom. She said she, Ron and Harry went to see him about getting a signed note to borrow a Restricted Section book and there was _The Joye of Snacks_ , sitting alongside all of his other useless stuff."

"How in the name of Merlin did _he_ get a copy?" Lee wondered.

"Probably the same way he got material for his books - stole it from someone, most likely." said Fred, matter-of-factly. "But who cares? The important thing is: it's here, in the Hogwarts Library. We just have to convince Pince to give it to us!"

"Madam Pince's in a right state now," Lee reminded the twins. "She was muttering about '...those rufous-headed reprobates' while she was shooing all of us out of the library. You two aren't going to get anywhere with her." He quirked a grin at his friends.

" _We_ may not, dear Lee," drawled George, "but _Hermione_ gave us an idea when she told us about her signed permission note from Lockhart. We just need _her_ to ask for the book _for_ us! We'll simply get-"

"-forge-"

"- a signed note from a teacher and have Hermione work her wiles on Pince!"

Fred sighed happily. "It's a cunning plan -"

"- with no obvious drawbacks!" George agreed.

Lee coughed gently. "Um, there is one small problem." The twins looked at him in surprise.

"What's that?" they chorused.

"You've forgotten that Hermione's infuriated with you two for causing the library to get shut down. She won't be interested in helping you out now!" answered Lee.

The twins looked at each other. "Bugger."

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **The name "Ogle Fruits" is a parody of "Opal Fruits", which is what Starburst(tm) candies are called in England. Fruity, chewy, and oh-so-yummy!**
> 
> A nod and a big thank you to Terry Pratchett, author of the Discworld series, for the name of the cookbook that the twins covet: _The Joye of Snacks,_ by Nanny Ogg. This cookbook was indeed banned on Pratchett's Discworld for what its recipes were capable of doing. Nanny Ogg is truly a lusty old witch. Just ask her about hedgehogs. 


	2. The Direct Approach

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing in this fiction except the plot idea, and make no money from it. JK Rowling's characters and locations are all hers, and a lucky woman she is.

Fred lay draped sideways in his favourite armchair. George likewise sprawled the length of the sofa nearest Fred. They were sitting near the common room fireplace in the Gryffindor Tower. In the middle of their fourth game of Exploding Snap, singed eyebrows and all, they waited for the woman of their dreams to appear.

Financial dreams.

"Where the hell is Hermione, anyway?" grumbled Fred. She had been conspicuously absent from the common room all evening. This did not bode well for the twins' plans. Due to Madam Pince's angry edict, the library was still shut down. There weren't many other places for the Gryffindor bookworm to be this particular evening.

"Fred, enough faffing around," huffed George exasperatedly as he threw down his cards. The discarded hand burst into flames with a _bang_ as it hit the floor. A cloud of smoke billowed around the twins, Ron and Harry. They were sitting in the chairs the other side of the hearth rug, deeply engrossed in a game of Wizard Chess.

"Oi, George, knock it off!" coughed Ron as he waved the smoke out of his face and away from the chessboard. The chess pieces were sneezing and spluttering. "What's your problem, anyway?"

George sat up and brushed soot off his face, then slid over to the end of the couch nearest his younger brother. "Where's your ickle friend, Ronniekins? We want to talk to Hermione."

Ron eyed the twins suspiciously. "What do you want with her?"

"Wonny, you wound us!" exclaimed Fred, hand to his heart. "We just want to chat! We haven't seen her in a few hours-"

"-and we're missing her dreadfully," finished George. Ron scowled at his brothers. Harry watched him with interest.

"Yeah, right, sure you are. Well I don't know where she is, alright? She's usually in the library at this time of night!"

Harry cut in. "She was in a right state all day with the library being closed. After dinner she muttered something about going to see Professor McGonagall to discuss our Transfiguration Vanishing homework."

"I'd like to Vanish my Potions homework..." groused Neville from a nearby desk, where he was frowning miserably at the parchment in front of him and chewing on the end of a quill.

"It's just the first week! Term's barely begun!" Fred said incredulously.

"Hermione doesn't see it that way. In her mind, it is one week closer to taking her O.W.L.s."

The twins shook their heads. "That girl needs to loosen up a bit." As he spoke, George casually handed a Puking Pastille to a passing first year, who naively popped it into his mouth and began to chew. Automatically, Fred held Ron's schoolbag open under the first year's chin just as the inevitable end result happened.

"Fred, gerroff, that's my bag!" shouted Ron, as the hapless first year student was grabbed by friends and dragged off to the toilet, still retching. Fred dropped the dripping bag and winked at George.

Ron's face had turned bright red and he was advancing on Fred, clenching his fists. Fred looked at him with feigned innocence. "Now, Ron, steady on! I was just helping a fellow Gryffindor in a time of illness," began Fred, but he stopped as the portrait hole opened and Hermione entered. Her eyes were ablaze and her hair frizzier than usual, standing out mane-like from her head. Her heavily-laden schoolbag dangled from one shoulder and banged against her knee. She looked wildly around the entirety of the common room until her gaze settled on a bemused Harry and the Weasley brothers sitting near the fire. Ron was ineffectually casting _Scourgify_ on his sodden schoolbag, cursing under his breath. Her eyes sparked as she strode towards them. Fred and George leapt to their feet, arms spread wide in greeting.

"Hermione!"

"Our favorite brilliant bookworm!"

"Shut it, you two!" Hermione spat, glaring at them, hands on hips. Her precariously perched schoolbag slid off her shoulder and onto the floor, spilling its contents. Ignoring it, Hermione raged at the twins. "You two have made a mess of things already this year and term's barely begun! I'm already behind in my studies because I couldn't access the library! I desperately wanted to read a particular Transfiguration text today and I couldn't because you two have single-handedly caused the library to be locked down!" She threw her hands into the air and flopped herself down in the armchair recently vacated by Fred.

"Actually, we double-handedly locked down the library, if you want to get technical..." said George. Hermione's dark glower silenced him.

"What were you two thinking? What did you do to make Madam Pince so angry? She's closed the library for the rest of the week! AND she's asked Umbridge to put you on the library black list until further notice!" Hermione demanded. "How will you study for your N.E.W.T.s now?"

Surprisingly, Fred and George looked sheepish. They decided to try honesty with Hermione. It hadn't worked with Pince the librarian, but Hermione was a different kind of witch altogether.

Fred shrugged, "We just wanted to borrow that book of Lockhart's."

"You know, _The Joye of Snacks_."

"So we approached Madam Pince and asked her about it."

"We figured that she would be willing to let seventh years borrow Restricted materials no problem!"

Hermione snorted at this. "Obviously you boys don't frequent the library often enough for _bona fide_ research purposes!"

"Yeah, well, we found out Pince's dead set against _any_ book usage, really. Godric's rod, aren't librarians supposed to be a _helpful_ bunch?" Fred frowned.

"Yes, they are, but _she's_ not, and thanks to you two, now I can't get in to get my book!" fumed Hermione.

Ron shook his head as he and Harry started packing away the wizard chess pieces. "Hermione, what's so special about this _particular_ book, anyway? Don't you have enough books to be getting on with?"

Hermione's eyes lit up in rapturous delight. "Of course not! This one is on Transfiguration theory and it sounds fascinating! It was referenced in the Foreword of _Quidditch Through the Ages._ " She stopped as all the nearby Gryffindors looked up from what they were doing and stared at her.

"You read a _Quidditch_ book?"

"You read the _Foreword_ of a Quidditch book?"

"What's a Foreword?"

Hermione glared at Ron, Harry, and the twins. "Honestly, none of you know the first thing about reading!" She huffed out of her chair and knelt to start stuffing her books back into her bag. George dropped down to help her.

"Seriously, Hermione, not to be too forward," he grinned winsomely, "but what's the book called?"

She paused to look at him, eyes narrowed. George meanwhile continued to load her bag, nonchalantly raising one singed eyebrow as he worked. He was the epitome of innocence and helpfulness. She wavered between self-righteous anger and the overwhelming desire to impart knowledge unto others. Desire won out.

"Well, if you really _are_ interested, it's called _Theories of Transubstantial Transfiguration._ I'd love to read it, I think it will offer valuable insight into the Vanishing techniques Professor McGonagall is teaching us this year. Dumbledore himself wrote the _Quidditch Through the Ages_ Foreword and mentioned reading _Theories_. He also warns that the book was hexed by Madam Pince to hit anyone about the head if they doodled in it. He did by accident and it attacked him."

George finished and chivalrously lifted Hermione's bag as he rose. At the same time Fred held his hand out and helped Hermione to her feet. He made a swooping bow.

"Hermione, we are truly sorry you've been unable to access the library on account of us!" he said.

"Let us make it up to you."

"We'll get you a copy of that book!"

Hermione looked disbelievingly from one twin to the other. "Why? What's in it for you?" Fred and George noted she didn't ask "How?"

"Can't a guy simply feel sorry for something he's done?" George asked. Hermione smirked at him and tapped her foot. George sighed.

"All right, all right, but we don't want much in return, really!" Fred said fervently. "Just a little assistance is all we ask-"

"-since we don't want a repeat of today's library events-"

"-so we'd really like your help to get _The Joye of Snacks_ from Pince!"

Hermione vehemently shook her head. "Oh, no no no. I won't have any more luck with her than you did! Restricted Section books can only be accessed with a signed note from a teacher!"

Fred squeezed Hermione's shoulder. "Don't worry about that! We have that covered, we'll get a note from Flitwick!" He clapped his other hand on George's shoulder.

"Right! He likes us, thinks we're rather brilliant. Which we are, obviously. We can get the note, but we'll need you to get the book. Pince'll go spare if we approach her again, note or no note!" George coaxed.

Hermione looked from one twin to the other, torn between her love of learning and her reluctance to bend rules. Desire ultimately won yet again. She held out her hand to George, who shook it somberly but with a happy glint in his eye. Fred did likewise.

"All right." Hermione acquiesced. "If you can get me a copy of _Theories of Transubstantial Transfiguration_ , I'll ask Madam Pince for _The Joye of Snacks_ when she re-opens the library."

"Excellent!" grinned Fred and George together. They elbowed each other.

Heading toward the girls' dormitory stairs, Hermione stopped and turned around. "How do you intend to get a copy, might I ask?" Despite herself, she was intrigued.

"What else? We'll go to the man himself and ask Dumbledore!" said Fred.

"Yeah! How much more 'forward' can The Weasley Twins be?" agreed George.

Hermione shook her head, smiling despite her former anger. "No more 'forward' than you already are!"

* * *

The next day's break period found Fred and George locked in a staring contest with the guard gargoyle outside the Headmaster's office.

"Lemon Drop!" guessed Fred.

"Nope," smirked the gargoyle.

"Ice mice!" tried George.

"Nope again," the gargoyle yawned, inspecting its claws.

"Crunchy Chocolate Frogs!"

"Cockroach Clusters?"

"Bertie Bott's Every-Flavour Beans!"

"No way. He doesn't like them," the gargoyle said flatly.

The twins scowled at the gargoyle, who sneered back at them. It knew all about the Weasley twins and had no desire to make things easy for them. It began to hum a tune that sounded suspiciously like "The Candy Man".

Fred and George were stumped. They'd been calling out names of sweets for the past 20 minutes or so, trying to discover through sheer bloody persistence the password to gain entrance to Dumbledore's office. They were running out of options and they were now starving. They looked at each other.

"We haven't tried any Muggle sweets. Maybe the old guy is having a wheeze of his own," mused George. "Do you remember the names of any of those Muggle sweets that Dad brings home?"

Fred shrugged. "Sure. Let's try them. What have we got to lose? Hey, gargoyle! How about KitKat?"

The gargoyle rolled its eyes. "Wrong!"

"Smarties?"

"Marathon?"

"Curly Wurly?"

"Nuh-unh, negativo, and nyet." crowed the gargoyle.

Fred paused, quirked an eyebrow at George, then said thoughtfully, "Nah. It can't be that one. That would be too..."

"...coincidental," said George, knowing what his twin was thinking. "Let's give it a shot. Oi! Gargy! How about..." he paused, relishing the moment. "... Opal Fruits?"

The gargoyle froze, staring at George, then its stony eyebrows furrowed and it glared ferociously at them as it grudgingly stepped aside to allow access to the portal to Dumbledore's office. The twins' eyes lit up as they pushed their way through.

"Fine! You guessed it. Happy now? Go on in. Rotten, good-for-nothing..." the gargoyle's disappointed mutterings faded as Fred and George took the spiral stairs two at a time. Panting, they both knocked on the door at the top.

"Enter," came a muffled voice. They stumbled inside. Catching their breaths, they looked up to see Professor Dumbledore peering at them over the tops of his half-moon glasses, a bemused smile on his bearded face. He was seated at his desk with a roll of parchment in his hand. Putting it down, he stood up and stepped forward to welcome the twins into his office.

"Well well, the Messrs. Weasley! What an unexpected, though pleasant, surprise!" The old wizard paused, considering. "It _is_ a _pleasant_ reason that brings you here, I presume?"

"Yes, Professor Dumbledore! We aren't in any sort of trouble," Fred assured him. "Not today, anyway," he amended.

The headmaster's eyes twinkled. "Yes, I did hear about your troubles in the library yesterday. Madam Pince is still quite vexed, I might add."

George nodded. "Yeah, we heard she is."

"It seems she's gotten Umbridge to proclaim us banned from the library for the foreseeable future."

"Not that we are that bothered about it."

Dumbledore raised a hand languidly, saying, " _Professor_ Umbridge, boys," but said nothing further on the topic. Instead he asked, "What then may I help you with today?" He seemed not at all surprised they had found their way past the gargoyle. "No lingering Aging Potion side-effects, I trust?"

Fred plunged in. "No sir. We'd just like to borrow a book from you. Not for us, for a friend."

Dumbledore mulled this over. "I see. A friend, is it? What is the book?"

" _Theories of Transubstantial Transfiguration_ ," said George. "You mentioned it in the Foreword you wrote for _Quidditch Through the Ages_."

Dumbledore eyed him shrewdly. "Did I? Ah, yes, I did indeed. However, you seem to have forgotten from your reading," at this he looked at the twins over his glasses again, "That that particular title is actually a library book. I don't own a copy myself; it normally resides in the Hogwarts library."

"Ah," said George, a bit crestfallen. He brightened. "Our friend really would like to read it, Professor, and she's quite put out with us about the library being closed! We'd go to Madam Pince herself to ask for it, but, well..."

"... we'll be hexed on sight. Umbridge and her banning proclamation and all that."

"Ah, yes. So you said," Dumbledore noted. "That does present a problem, then."

"Well, sir, we thought that perhaps you be willing-"

"-to get the book from the library _for_ us?"

"Actually, it is for Hermione Granger, but-"

"-we promised we'd get the book for her, as an apology of sorts, so..." Fred's voice trailed off.

After a moment, Dumbledore gave the twins a small smile. "I always appreciate the thirst for knowledge that my students have, and Miss Granger certainly has a greater thirst than most. Very well. I will indeed take my life into my own hands and re-acquire the book from Madam Pince – _if_ you two will first do something for me."

The twins looked eager. Could it be so straight-forward as this? "What would you like, Professor? We'll do whatever we can!"

"It is something quite simple," said the headmaster. "I would like you to bring me a nice pair of warm socks."

"Uh... You want… socks?" asked George, taken aback.

"Yes. Socks. Thick, warm, woolen socks. Hand-knitted, I should think." Dumbledore smiled. "I never seem to have enough."

Fred and George grinned at each other. They had _plenty_ of socks, courtesy of their mother. Their trunks were full of blue socks, yellow socks, orange socks, green socks... this would be a piece of cake!

"Oh," added Dumbledore, raising a finger. "Just one more requirement. I'd like them to be maroon."

The twins' faces fell. "Maroon?"

"Yes. Maroon." repeated the old wizard.

The twins gazed tensely at each other as they wracked their brains, trying to picture their trunks' contents, but neither of them could recall a single pair of maroon socks in their possession. Sweat broke out on their foreheads. Though they could probably owl their mother and simply ask for a pair, they did not want to involve her in this scheme since she would ask too many questions. The silence thickened, but then suddenly Fred relaxed and smiled.

"Certainly, sir! We can provide you with the thickest, warmest, marooniest pair of socks you can imagine," he declared confidently. "Just give us a day or two."

"Excellent! I look forward to them. You may collect the transfiguration book upon delivery of said socks. I am giddy with anticipation!" beamed Dumbledore. With that, he ushered them out and bade them farewell. Fred smiled and nodded and seemed perfectly at ease. George, however, was bursting with curiosity as they trooped back down the stairs.

Fred remained quiet as the boys made their way towards the castle's kitchen. By now lunch was over and their stomachs rumbled fiercely. By unspoken mutual agreement, they were skiving off their next class in order to satisfy their hungers. After several minutes of silence, his patience at an end, George poked Fred in the ribs.

"So, are you going to keep me in the dark, brother o' mine, or let me in on your scheme?"

"Ah, George, of course, of course." Fred said in his best Percy imitation. "We need not have worried ourselves back there, however briefly. _We_ may not have maroon socks, but our Ronnie _does_." Fred looked very pleased with himself. "An entire trunkful, as I recall. He's our brother. He'll give us a pair, no problem."

George broke into a huge grin and cuffed Fred on the shoulder. "Brilliant! I knew you'd think of that eventually, it's obvious, really!"

Fred rolled his eyes, smirking, and led the way toward the kitchen and food.

* * *

Later that night in the Gryffindor common room:

"No, you can't have 'em."

"What? Why not?"

"Because they are _my_ bloody socks!"

"But you _hate_ maroon! You whinge that Mum gives you maroon-colored clothing every Christmas!"

Ron threw down the quill he was using to doodle in the margin of his Charms essay. "So what? Why would I even _want_ to help you? There's nothing in it for me! Merlin, you made a first year _puke_ in my schoolbag! It's ruined! I smell like vomit now when I walk through the halls. Malfoy's _loving_ that! AND what about my month's supply of Drooble's Best Blowing Gum? Gone! Barfed on! You are just lucky there were no books in there or..."

"Ron, you know, if you give them to us, you'll be making Hermione very happy," interjected Fred, slyly.

Ron flushed red. His mouth opened and shut several times, like a fish. Looking all around the immediate area and finding no signs of Hermione, he leaned closer to his brothers.

"Okay, well, maybe. But, I want something out of this."

"Certainly, little brother! What can we do for you?"

"Anything that is within our power!"

"Want us to talk to Hermione for you?"

"Shut it! No, I want a new schoolbag, one that doesn't smell like a sick goat's living in it."

"That's easy! Done!"

Ron held up a hand. "Wait, I'm not finished! It can't be just any schoolbag. I want a Chudley Cannons bag."

"Not a problem!"

"Signed." Ron continued.

"... signed?"

"Yes. By the entire team!" finished Ron. He sat back, a determined look on his face.

Fred and George narrowed their eyes at their younger brother. The two of them could probably bribe Harry to steal a pair of Ron's socks, or even just sneak into his bedroom and steal the socks themselves, but they didn't want to antagonize him much more. It could backfire and ultimately turn Hermione off of the idea of helping them out.

"Okay. Sure. This shouldn't be difficult – we'll Owl Oliver. Wood's on the Puddlemere United reserves, I'm sure he's got connections with other teams; we'll just ask him for an autographed Cannons bag!" said Fred.

"But, listen, Ron. We do this for you, _we_ get to take our pick of your socks. We need the best pair possible, not some manky old sweaty pair you've wanked off into countless times." George smirked as Ron turned an even brighter shade of red.

"Alright! Yes, fine, you can have your pick of my socks, once I've got the Cannons bag. And quickly, I can't take the puke smell much longer!" With that, Ron collected his essay, quill, and Potions book and disappeared up the stairs to his room.

Fred looked at George with a slightly glazed expression on his face. "We'd better write to Oliver tonight. We need Oliver to get us a bag, so Ron will give us his socks, so we can get the book from Dumbledore, so we can be heroes in Hermione's eyes and she'll get _The Joye of Snacks_ for us from Pince. Does that about cover it?"

George was already putting quill to parchment. "Dear Oliver..." he intoned as he wrote. "How's life as a real Quidditch player? The team just isn't the same without you here to yell at us. By the way, we've got a favor to ask..."

* * *

The next day was Friday, and the Weasley twins were jumpy as they headed down to breakfast. They had sent off their request to Oliver with a school owl before going to bed the previous evening. It was probably too soon for Oliver's return owl, but they couldn't help hoping to hear from him that morning. They served themselves toast, sausages and porridge while they waited anxiously. Lee Jordan asked them how their Plan B was coming along and George was filling him in on the details when Fred nudged him.

"Post's here!"

Owls turned and wheeled overhead in the Great Hall, zooming down to deliver mail to students all over the room. Luck was with the twins that morning and the same school owl they'd used earlier dropped a return letter into Fred's sausages. The owl landed briefly and snagged a sausage for itself before taking off for the Owlery. Fred eagerly ripped open the envelope. As he read, his grinning face changed to a look of frustration.

"What's the news, Fred? Oliver not able to help us after all?" queried George. Fred shook his head.

"Oh, no, he _will_ help us, he's mates with the Cannons Keeper. But – can you guess? – he wants us to send him something first."

George raised his eyebrows. His lip twitched. "I am sensing a serious trend here. Okay, what does Oliver want?"

"Oh, nothing much really..." griped Fred, whose normal good humour was rather squashed at the moment. "Just that collection of Quidditch plays and strategies he put together while he was here. He says he wants to show the coaches his ideas and maybe move up in the ranks."

"I remember that playbook well," George chuckled, but then frowned. "Why the hell doesn't he have it with him? Those Quidditch plays were his babies, his life's-blood!"

"Here, read his letter. Apparently, the playbook was confiscated, by the one and only _Filch_ , due to unruly behaviour by Oliver during the Quidditch Cup celebration we had two years ago. Filch should still have it. Gods, I hope to Merlin he does!"

George read the letter and shook his head in disbelief. He sighed.

"Ugh. So, okay, we return the playbook to Oliver, which gets us a signed Chudley Cannons schoolbag for Ron. We need to talk to Filch." George grinned. "Chin up, Fred! Got any Dungbombs left?"

* * *

That afternoon found the twins seated side-by-side in Filch's office. Mrs. Norris glared at them, balefully. Ignoring her, they looked around with interest. Filch's desk was covered with all sorts of books on medieval punishments, pieces of confiscated wizarding novelties, and a plate containing the remains of what appeared to be Filch's lunch from at least a week previous. In addition, on the corner of the desk there was a hand mirror, a greasy-looking hairbrush, and a small glass jar, which held what looked like a collection of toenail clippings. These drew questioning glances from the twins, though they kept silent about Filch's grooming habits. They noted with intense pride that the cabinet housing their own files had grown another drawer to accommodate their write-ups. They had certainly had some great years at Hogwarts.

Filch spoiled their reverie by shoving his greasy face in front of them.

"You're in for it now! You are in so much trouble! Detentions for a month! Throwing Dungbombs in the hallways … will you two never learn?" he spouted, poking them each in the chest with a bony finger.

Fred leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head. "Now, wait a minute, Filch, me old friend. Did you actually _see_ a Dungbomb being thrown? Did you see any _evidence_ of a Dungbomb having been thrown?"

Filch stopped mid-rant and glared at Fred. The twins could almost hear the gears turning in his head as he thought.

"Well... no... no I didn't." The old man admitted. "But that doesn't change the fact that you had Dungbombs _in your possession!"_

"I don't recall it being against school rules merely to have Dungbombs on one's person, do you, Fred?" remarked George.

"Nope, George, I don't recall that particular clause at all!"

At Fred's words Filch began to swell with anger again.

Much as he normally enjoyed watching Filch implode, George diffused the situation a bit by raising a placating hand. "Filch, we give you our words as Weasleys," at this Filch snorted, "we are not here to cause you trouble."

"No indeed! Far from it! We are here to ask you..." here Fred gritted his teeth, "...a favour."

Filch stared at the twins, wheezing, his mouth agape. His fetid breath washed over the twins and they were hard-pressed not to gag.

"A favour?" he repeated. "A _favour_? For you two? What kind of nonsense are you spouting now?"

"We solemnly swear it's just a simple request. Truly!"

"All we are asking is to get Oliver Wood's playbook from you."

"The one with his Quidditch plays. We want to return it to him."

"He's asked us to see you about getting it back."

Filch blinked. "That Wood boy was entirely too boisterous and rowdy the day I took that book away from him! Raving on and on about the Quidditch Cup at all hours of the night! Ridiculous. He's lucky I didn't burn the thing in front of him!"

Fred and George perked up. "So you still have it?"

"Of course I still have it! It's here somewhere... but that doesn't mean I'm going to just hand it over to the likes of you two!" Filch growled. He scooped up Mrs. Norris and began to stroke her fur.

"But Oliver's not a student here anymore..." wheedled George, "...and it may affect his livelihood if he doesn't get it back. I would think you'd feel honour bound to help a former student do well away from these walls!"

Filch glared at George. "Honour bound? Hah! I'd never. Good riddance to the lot of you, I'd say! Always causing trouble for me, making messes, leaving things for me to clean up... and what about poor Madam Pince! You two left her terribly upset the other day, bothering her in the library. Is that any way to treat a lady?" At those words, Filch stopped his ranting, his face becoming thoughtful. The twins watched him carefully. They were becoming very familiar with that particular facial expression.

"It's Wood's playbook you want, you say?" Filch asked. The twins nodded. The caretaker sat down heavily in his desk chair, released Mrs. Norris, and turned to a drawer labeled "W – except Weasley". He pulled it open. Flicking through the folders within, he pulled one out with the name "Wood" emblazoned on the front. Opening it, the only thing the twins could see was a well-worn, obviously much-used playbook. There was nothing else in the folder. Apparently Wood had been too wrapped up in Quidditch to ever run afoul of Filch during the rest of his time at Hogwarts. Filch lifted the book and held it up.

"This is what you are after." He grimaced. "I will make a deal with you!"

The twins watched him warily. "Go on..." encouraged Fred, rather reluctantly.

"You see that I have the playbook. I will give it to you - on one condition!" Filch looked positively gleeful, but there was perhaps a hint of nervousness in his tone.

"What's the condition?"

"I would like to take Madam Pince to dinner, in Hogsmeade. Ask her for me, get her to say yes, and I'll give you the book." Filch set his jaw and glared at the twins, daring them to say something.

The twins' jaws dropped, but they managed to rally quickly. "So...what you are saying is... if we can get you a date with the librarian, we have your word you will give us Oliver Wood's Quidditch playbook?" George said slowly, making sure he'd heard correctly.

Filch smiled nastily. "That's right."

George glanced at Fred, who had gone a little pale, but he nodded when he met George's eye. There was no help for it. They needed _The Joye of Snacks_ cookbook to make their new 'Ogle Fruit' sex appeal sweets become a reality. Whatever it took to make it happen, the twins would do it.

Standing up, George extended his right hand to Filch. "We'll get you that date! Let's shake on it, make it official!"

The caretaker was rather surprised that his offer had been accepted, but after carefully eyeballing the hand to be sure it wasn't booby trapped in some way, Filch proffered his own hand. They shook, sealing the deal. George even went so far as to throw his arm around Filch's stooped shoulders in a brief man-hug.

"We'll let you know when we've succeeded!" said George as he and his brother quickly moved toward the door to make their escape.

"I'm sure Madam Pince will be thrilled to have dinner with you!" Fred called back as he and his brother loped away down the hall.

Halfway to Gryffindor Tower, Fred stopped George, giving him a shove. " _Now_ what, dear brother? Why did you agree to that? How the hell are we going to convince Pince to go on a date with _Filch_ , of all people? _Never mind_ the small detail that she won't even let us get near the library so we _could_ ask her!"

George had been leaning against the wall as Fred ranted, a smug expression on his freckled face. "Are you quite through?" he asked his twin. "Sometimes, my dear Fred, I think you are channeling Percy. Never fear!" As he spoke, George lifted his hand, which was clenched in a tight fist. " _We_ may not be allowed in the library...," he opened his hand slowly, the fingers sticking together a bit, "...but Filch certainly is!"

Clinging to his fingers were several long, greasy grey hairs, acquired during George's brief physical contact with the caretaker. Fred looked at the hairs, then at George. His eyes widened as comprehension dawned.

"Brilliant! Polyjuice Potion! I knew you'd think of that eventually, it's obvious, really!"

George rolled his eyes at his brother, shaking his head but quite pleased with himself. Fred pulled out a blank piece of parchment and they carefully folded the hairs of Filch into it. He stuck it into his pocket. George meanwhile wiped his hand briskly on his trouser leg. As the boys set off towards the dining hall for the evening meal, he said in a lowered voice, "All we need now is to visit Snape's storeroom and find where he's hiding the Polyjuice Potion he makes for the Order."

Fred murmured back, "Right. We sneak in, nick some of the potion, add a dose of Filch to the mix, and we'll be ready for you to woo Pince on Filch's behalf!" By the time he'd finished speaking, he'd sped up and was practically running down the hall.

George yelled after him, "Hey, what do you mean, ME?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took on a life of its own and took me longer to write than I'd planned. Let me know what you think; our favourite ginger-haired duo have certainly got their work cut out for them!
> 
> "Opal Fruits" and other sweets and diverse candies mentioned in this story belong variously to Cadbury, Mars, Inc., Nestle, and other confectioners of note. I love them all.


	3. Love is in the Air

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer: I own nothing in this fiction except the plot idea, and make no money from it. JK Rowling's characters and locations are all hers: lock, stock and barrel.**

"Enter." Snape didn't look up from the first-year's essay he was grading when he heard the knock. His office door remained closed. Frowning, he put down his quill. Picking up his wand, he flicked it viciously at the door, causing it to burst open and reveal the startled face of Lee Jordan, his hand still raised in a knocking position. Snape's nostrils flared as he looked down his hooked nose at the teenager standing in the doorway.

"I said 'Enter!' Are you deaf as well as tardy, Jordan? You are five minutes late for your detention. _Amortentia_ is terribly difficult to brew, you should not be wasting a single moment. You've already botched the job once; I do not relish the thought of dealing with the consequences of your incompetence a second time." Snape stalked over to his private work table, where a cauldron was already set up for Lee's use. He swiftly turned to face Lee, who was still standing just a few steps inside the open door.

"Well, Jordan? Don't just stand there gaping; close the door, close your mouth, and get to work. You will be completing your detention here, in my office. I will be better able to keep an eye on your progress. All the necessary ingredients are on the table, but it will be up to you to measure and add them correctly." Snape stared stonily at Lee for a moment, then about-faced and stalked back to his desk, where he sat and resumed grading essays. He shook his head as he worked, deciding this year's potions students were as dunderheaded as past years'.

Watching from the corner of his eye, he observed Jordan setting out his potions equipment in a neat and orderly fashion, surprisingly calm and unhurried. He had apparently gotten over his initial nervousness. Incredibly, the boy was even humming under his breath as he sorted through the ingredients on the table. _Cheerfulness?_ Snape curled his lip in derision. _I'll take care of that._ He barked sharply, "Jordan, you are to concentrate on the task at hand. In silence."

Lee jumped, startled, but replied, "Yes, Professor." Quickly _and_ quietly, he crossed over to Snape's desk. "Sir, I'm afraid there is one important item missing. I'll need powdered rhino horn to make the potion correctly."

Snape smirked a bit and waved his wand at the stores closet door, silently unlocking it and letting it swing open. "Well, well, Jordan. You actually _are_ paying attention this time and didn't just blindly accept the ingredients I laid out for you. The powdered rhino horn can be found in my private stores closet. Do _not_ delay in retrieving it!" Lee, murmuring a "thanks", went to the closet, pushed the door wide and disappeared inside. The door remained open, swaying a bit in a slight breeze.

Snape noted this and furrowed his eyebrows. _A breeze? Where would a breeze have come from down here in the dungeons?_

Inside the closet, Lee gaped at the shelves filled with all kinds of strange and disquieting items, resting or floating in jars. There were more odd things here than in the stores for the Potions classroom. He found the powdered rhino horn he needed easily enough, as everything was filed alphabetically, but he took a few extra minutes to browse. Snape seemed to have everything from _Crocodile Tears_ to _Dehydrated Water,_ from _Dried Frog Pills_ to _Book Extract,_ from _Solent Cream_ to _Soylent Green_. There was even something called _Salinated Dihydrogen Monoxide._ Lee was fascinated.

The silence stretched out over too many minutes. Patience worn thin and suspicions high, Snape skulked over to the closet, hoping to catch Lee in some wrongdoing. He rounded the door-frame, insults at the ready.

To his surprise and disappointment, he came face to face with Lee, who lost his grip on the large jar he was carrying as he came out of the closet. It would have smashed on the floor but for Snape, who's hand whipped out, quick as a snake, and grabbed the jar before it hit. He raised the jar to Lee's eye-level and quirked an eyebrow.

"Powdered Rhino Horn. I hope I do not need to impress upon you, Jordan, the rarity and costliness of this particular ingredient. Caution is of utmost importance in a Potions lab. Keep your wits about you." He stood aside, gesturing for Lee to go ahead to the table, and closed the closet door with a firm _click_. A muffled _thump_ from the inside the closet gave him pause and he began to turn back to the door.

At that moment, Lee coughed and muttered rather loudly under his breath something about "...well if you hadn't _startled_ me..." as he moved towards the workbench to begin measuring. Hearing him, Snape snarled, "5 points from Gryffindor for your cheek," as he put the Powdered Rhino Horn jar down on the table with a decisive _thump._

Lee glared but bit his tongue. Instead, he set his mind to the task ahead and quickly and efficiently measured out the required amounts of the _Amortentia_ ingredients. There were several rather exotic ones: yohimbe, oysters, rubber tree plant juice, and of course the precious rhino horn, and other rather mundane items: asparagus, almond, banana, avocado, plain vanilla, and chocolate.

Snape's black eyes followed Lee's measurements carefully. He could find no fault in any of them. Despite his biased Quidditch commentaries and the sort of company he kept, Snape reluctantly admitted that Jordan was a dab hand at potions. Honestly, Jordan _was_ very talented, as all of Snape's seventh year Potions students had to be (Snape thanked Merlin once again that the Weasley twin menaces had failed their Potions O.W.L.s). How Jordan had managed to botch his first batch of the love potion so spectacularly, Snape couldn't begin to fathom.

Lee confidently added the ingredients in the proper order and stirred the requisite number of times between each. At the addition of the last ingredient (two raw oysters), Snape drawled, "All right, Jordan, you appear to have the beginnings of a proper _Amortentia_ potion. At the very least, it doesn't smell of boiled tripe, unlike your first attempt." He looked at the Sandkeeper on his desk. "Leave it to simmer for 69 minutes exactly," Snape ignored the huge grin that crawled across Lee's face at this last instruction, "and then remove it from the heat. In the meantime, return all of the extra ingredients to the stores closet and start writing an essay on what you did differently this time to make the potion properly."

Snape wheeled about and returned to his desk once again. Lee gave him the two-fingered salute behind his back, but was innocently heading for the closet with a few jars of ingredients by the time Snape had looked up at him again.

Lee re-shelved the jars in their correct places in the stores closet and went back for another load, leaving the door wide open again. Snape eyed the door closely but it didn't move. Lee finished replacing the packets and jars and closed the door carefully.

Snape observed Lee. The student sat innocently enough at the work table and pulled out quill, ink and parchment. Careful not to jostle the simmering cauldron, he set to work, industriously scratching away with his quill. After a few moments, Snape relaxed and set to finishing the first-year essay grading he had begun.

After exactly 69 minutes had passed, Lee quietly removed the cauldron from the heat source, set it on a three-legged trivet, and extinguished the magical flame. Before Snape noticed, Lee quickly drew a large empty potion bottle from his robe pocket, carefully siphoned up some of the _Amortentia_ with his wand and deposited it into the glass bottle. He'd stoppered and pocketed it just before Snape slapped the last of the graded essays down on the haphazard pile on his desk and rose from his seat. He swept over to inspect the results of Lee's work.

Rolling up his essay, Lee said nonchalantly, "Finished with this, sir. And I believe the potion came out correctly this time." He handed the roll of parchment to Snape with a cheeky grin.

Snape snatched the essay from Lee and tossed it carelessly onto his desk. "Thank you, Jordan, but I will be the judge of your potion's quality." He looked down into the cauldron.

Steaming gently, the _Amortentia_ potion glimmered with its characteristic mother-of-pearl sheen. Snape stuck his nose into the steam and sniffed. Instantly, his nasal passages were filled with the alluring fragrances of fresh ink, new parchment and, most importantly, lilies-of-the-valley. He inhaled deeply, eyes shut, lost in memories.

"Professor?"

Snape's eyes suddenly snapped open, returning him to the present. He scowled at Lee's concoction: a perfectly-brewed love potion.

"Well. Yes. Against all odds, you've brewed it correctly, Jordan. You should have done so the first time in class. Now that you've shown you can do it, I expect high-quality work like this from you henceforth." Snape began to decant the potion into small phials. "You may go." Snape gestured to the door.

Lee stood stunned for a moment. He had just received the closest thing to a compliment he'd ever heard Snape utter. However, as Snape turned to fully face him, glowering, Lee sprang into action, collecting his potions equipment and stuffing it all haphazardly into his bag. Giving a quick nod to Snape, he sprinted for the door.

"Slow down, boy!" snapped Snape, and the teen willed himself to a stop in front of the office door. Grasping the handle, he opened the door wide but remained in front of the open portal for a moment. Solemnly, he turned back to Snape, who was stoppering the last of the phials. When the Potions master looked up at him through greasy, lank hair, Lee said, "Thank you, Professor. This was one of the most satisfying detentions I've ever had. You have given me more tonight than I could ever have hoped for." With a wink, Lee flashed a broad smile at Snape as he ducked out the door, letting it slam shut behind him.

Snape blinked at his office door, a bit taken aback by Lee's exuberance. Then, his eyes narrowed and he turned to look at the stores closet door. He slowly approached it, wand drawn and ready. He reached out, grabbed the handle, then yanked the door open, jumping clear as he did so.

Nothing happened. Cautiously entering the closet, he peered around, examining all the shelves closely, particularly the ones containing the _Amortentia_ ingredients. Everything seemed in order. He sniffed the air. Nothing suspicious came to his nose; there was only the lingering scent of lilies.

Snape relaxed slightly. Turning to the back of the closet, he made space for the phials of _Amortentia_ on his shelves of completed potions, briskly storing them away. With the last phial in his hand, he hesitated, then uncorked it and took one last deep whiff of the potion, his senses once again inundated with the scent of lilies-of-the-valley. Rather giddily, he re-corked the phial, placed it on the shelf, and left the closet, locking it behind him. Drunk on the heady fragrance and lost once again in memories of yore, he had completely failed to notice that two phials of the bubbling, muddy Polyjuice potion, normally stored on the bottom shelf of his closet, were missing.

* * *

Lee was beating a hasty retreat down the hallway, wanting to put as much space between himself and Snape's office as possible. Safely around the corner, he paused for breath, but yelped as George suddenly appeared beside him, grinning like a fool as he whipped the Invisibility Cloak off with a flourish.

"Did you get it? Tell me you got it! Tell me I didn't go through all that humiliation for nothing! I _like_ doing well in Potions, you know!" implored Lee.

George, still smiling, said nothing as he slowly reached his hand into his pocket, drawing out two small flasks. In them, Lee could see a muddy brown, viscous, bubbling substance. His face broke into a grin as wide as George's.

"Brilliant!" He high-fived his friend and laughed gleefully.

"Damned right! Good work leaving doors wide open like you did. It was a near thing when I bumped that closet door though. I felt it move and I was positive Snape had seen it too."

"Yeah, that was close. Then you went and got stuck inside the closet! I had to save your noisy arse by taking a hit myself 'for being cheeky'. I was cursing you by then. I knew we should have had Fred come with me instead. He's the graceful one."

"Oh yeah, sure." George's grin broadened even further, if that were possible. "Fred needs to save his strength. He's got the tricky bit coming up."

Lee chortled quietly as the two boys headed towards Gryffindor Tower, using the Marauders' Map they'd borrowed back from Harry. It was now past midnight, and they needed to avoid a run-in with Filch at all costs.

"Fred's got to pull off a convincing Filch impression as he woos Pince."

"You nicked some of the _Amortentia_ , didn't you?"

"Yep," affirmed Lee. "With that and the Polyjuice, do you think it'll work?"

The two teens looked at each other.

"It'll take a miracle."

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **JKR doesn't reveal the actual ingredients for _Amortentia_ , so I took liberties with choosing them. I figured there would be at least a few alleged aphrodisiacs in the mixture. **
> 
> **I was actually a little sad for Snape when he got a whiff of the _Amortentia_. Guess he was certain it was brewed successfully, eh?**
> 
>  **Did you catch the nod to _The Princess Bride_? Great book, great film!**


	4. One for the Team

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer: I own nothing in this fiction except the plot idea, and make no money from it. JK Rowling's characters and locations are all hers: every last particle!**

"Quick, gimme Ron's schoolbag!"

"Why?"

"Because I'm gonna hurl!" Fred looked decidedly nauseated. He was sitting on a sofa in the Gryffindor common room, having just come from Wednesday evening dinner in the Great Hall where he had consumed a large quantity of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding. He gazed with trepidation at the Polyjuice potion bubbling away in its container.

George laughed and waved the flask under Fred's nose. "Steady on, Fred! We haven't even added the essential ingredient yet!" He held up a single, long, greasy, grey hair.

Fred shuddered. The idea of drinking Extract of Filch was revolting, to say the least. Scab-flavoured Bertie Bott's Every-Flavour Beans were one thing, but getting in touch with one's inner Filch? Fred's stomach rebelled.

Wildly, he thought of the two-headed Knut he kept for occasions just like this one. "George, really, to be fair, we should flip for the honour of being Filch. Heads, you go, tails, I do." As he spoke, Fred fished the fake Knut out of his pocket.

George waved the coin away, shaking his head. "No way, dear brother, we already settled this. Last night, I risked life and limb sneaking into Lee's cleverly-acquired detention under cloak of invisibility. Tonight, you get to risk pride and dignity impersonating Filch and ask Pince for a date. We played 'Rock-paper-scissors-dragon-Merlin', best five out of seven, remember?"

"...yeah, yeah, okay." Fred decided to revert to childhood as a last resort. He dropped to his knees, hands clutching George's jumper, and whined, "Pleeeease, George, don't make me drink it!"

George pulled away, laughing. "That won't work on me! Dad's the one who always fell for that when we were kids." He shook his head at his twin, reveling in his brother's discomfort. "You sound as bad as Ron, you big baby," he taunted.

"I am _not_ a baby," Fred pouted.

"Are too. A baby _and_ a chicken."

"Am not!"

" _Buk buk buk ba-GAWK!_ "

Fred ceased his pouting. "What the hell was that supposed to be?"

"A baby chicken!"

"Baby chickens say _'peep peep peep'_ , not _'Buk buk buk ba-gawk!'_ "

What do they say?"

" _Peep peep peep!_ "

"See, you _are_ a baby chicken!"

Fred scowled and took the flask and the hair from George, peering in at the muddy, brown, bubbling goo. _What the hell_ , he said to himself. _We need that cookbook. I can handle this_. _Buck up! Think of the Galleons to be made, Fred!_

Aloud, he said brightly, "Fine. Fine! I bet Filch tastes refreshingly fruity, actually! Perhaps with woodsy overtones and a hint of musk. I can hardly wait for this unique experience!"

That's the ol' Gryffindor spirit, Fred!" George clapped him on the shoulder.

Fred shrugged him off and, popping the cork, he carefully lowered Filch's grimy hair into the mouth of the flask. The twins both stared as the addition of the hair caused the Polyjuice to bubble even more furiously for a moment or two before it abruptly stopped fizzing, simultaneously changing in colour to a mouldy green hue. It now smelled strongly of rotting onions.

"Mmmm, yum, looks delicious, Fred! Just like leaf-mould! There's that woodsiness you were hoping for!" George chortled.

Fred gulped uneasily and re-corked the potion. He had a few more minutes before he actually needed to swallow the vile concoction. He asked, "Do we have everything we need?"

"Yep," replied George, rifling through a pile of assorted items lying beside him on the sofa.

"Manky old robes covered in cat hair?"

"Check. I liberated Ron's old Yule Ball dress robes and rubbed them all over Crookshanks."

"Brilliant!"

"Crookshanks nearly took my arm off too, I'll have you know! You aren't the only one with distasteful chores..."

"Get over yourself. How about stinky, clunky boots?"

"Check. Found some of Professor Sprout's shit-covered Wellies in Greenhouse Three."

"Perfect. Now for the tricky bit: requisite bouquet of beautiful blooms?"

"Well... " George gingerly held up a fistful of green and purple spiky flowers. "We've got thistles, from down by the lake. Best we could do on short notice here in Scotland. Harry told us Filch is a Squib, right? So he wouldn't be able to conjure anything better on his own."

Fred eyed the plants thoughtfully. "Shouldn't be too badly received... they _are_ purple. Girls like purple, don't they?"

George shrugged. "Yeah, generally. I think. And these _-Ow!-_ have nice prickly thorns all over them." He dropped the thistles and studied his thumb. A drop of blood was welling up from the pad. "Pince will probably like that extra touch."

Fred pursed his lips, thinking. "Maybe we should hit the Herbology greenhouses again instead? Find some nice mandrakes or immature triffids or something?"

"Nah, let's stick to the cliches," replied George. He sucked his bleeding thumb briefly and then wiped it on his jeans. "It's pretty obvious that Pince is a traditionalist. Just look at her: bun in the hair, glasses on the end of the nose, sour expression, frumpy robes. She's the quintessential, stereotypical librarian. Would she want fancy magical flowering plants, or a fistful of romantically hand-picked crabgrass? I'd bet my right ear she'd go for the crabgrass every time."

"The thistles certainly fit her personality type best, and they've got flowers! Beats crabgrass I reckon." Fred agreed. "Right then. Now, last but not least: are the 'special' chocolates ready?"

George laughed evilly and pulled a small rectangular box out from under the cat-hair laden robes. He carefully opened the box, which was hinged like a book, to reveal half a dozen book-shaped chocolates, individually nestled in pink tissue paper. He picked one up carefully, held it under his nose, and sniffed. "Aahhhh, delightful. The lovely combined fragrances of Quidditch leathers, fireworks, and..." his voice trailed off, his eyes dreamy. He snapped back to the present a second later. "Ahem. Yes, the chocolates are loaded with _Amortentia_ and are ready to go."

Fred quirked a questioning eyebrow at his brother. "What else did you smell, George? Hmmm?"

George ignored him, busying himself with carefully tucking the little chocolate away in its nest. He closed the box and slid it back under the robes. Only then did he look up at Fred. "Pardon?" he asked, innocently.

"Hunh. Never mind." Fred smirked at George, mentally vowing to investigate his twin's potential love interest more thoroughly at a later date.

George jumped up and unceremoniously grabbed the entire collection of items from the sofa. He barked at Fred, "Right! On your feet, young 'Argus'! Now's the time for all good men to come to the aid of their country, and all that. Hup hup hup!"

Sighing, Fred heaved himself up from the floor, where he'd been kneeling since he'd ineffectually tried to beg off this task. He still had the potion bottle in his hand. He looked at it, stuffed it in his robe pocket, and with a sudden mad twinkle in his eye, grinned hugely and sprinted towards the portrait hole, dodging around other Gryffindors as they trickled into the common room for their evening's studying or roughhousing. "Come on, George! What's keeping you? We've got a librarian to woo!"

* * *

Wednesday evening was reclassification night in the library.

Madam Pince was seated at her desk, busily re-cataloguing all the potions books published in prime number years so they would be shelved in the "philters" or "elixirs" sections of the library instead. Her wand was swishing and flicking madly as she deftly levitated the books to their new places. Several students, diligently studying in the newly re-opened library, had narrowly avoided being clobbered by flying volumes.

 _Drat_ , the librarian scowled to herself.

Madam Pince generally shunned the Hogwarts student body. Loud, dirty, nasty little beasts they were, with disrespect for the written word seeping out of their acne-ridden pores. Unfortunately, students were a necessary evil, since without them there would be no Hogwarts and she, the best librarian Hogwarts had ever had (in her opinion), would be unemployed. So, knowing the brats would be ever-present in her life, Madam Pince took particular pleasure in regularly rearranging the collection, stymieing the students whenever possible.

Peering through her matronly spectacles, she eyeballed the Sandkeeper on the wall over the library entrance. _Almost closing time_ , Madam Pince noted.

She started to turn back to her all-important book shuffling, but her attention was drawn to a sudden scuffling movement in the library doorway. Raising her wand in apprehension, she mentally prepared a Stinging Hex, ready to launch it at the first sign of rough-housing, happiness, or frivolity.

Madam Pince relaxed slightly upon seeing the perpetrator. Argus Filch, her colleague and fellow commiserator in matters concerning the impertinent student body, was limping rheumatically towards her. Her glare softened a bit. For some time now, she had admired Filch's dedication to student disciplinary techniques, and thought him a misunderstood and much-maligned figure. She studied him as he approached. He was breathing heavily and seemed rather more distressed than usual, and was he actually wearing formal robes? Filch's eyes bulged in their sockets, his face shiny with sweat and his limp hair hanging haphazardly in his face. Oddly, his cat was not with him. She wondered if he'd just had a run-in with a particularly nasty student, or worse, Peeves. She hoped not; the poor man had enough to deal with on a daily basis. She raised an eyebrow at him as he reached her desk.

"Mr. Filch," she murmured, quietly.

"...Madam...Pince, I hope you are well... this fine evening...," Fred, disguised as Filch, gasped in reply, slumping forward slightly and leaning on her desk with one hand. He was holding the other behind his back.

" _Crikey, how is this old geezer still alive?_ " Fred thought to himself as he fought the pain in his chest. After a moment or two, he gained his second wind and he straightened up, at least as much as his hunched back would allow. He looked up and simpered at her, his greying teeth clearly in evidence. The effect was rather unsettling, or would have been if Madam Pince didn't consider herself above such shallow things as personal appearance.

Instead, she said in her best library voice, "As well as can be expected. Things have been quiet here since I re-opened the library. Perhaps after that scare, _they_ will begin to behave with proper decorum."

Filch/Fred nodded, knowing very well who _they_ were. Breathing more easily, he said, "You have struck fear into their hearts, my dear librarian. You understand how important that is for maintaining discipline." He grinned again.

Blushing at the compliment, the librarian fiddled a bit with her date stamp. With her eyes cast demurely down at her hands, she missed seeing an exaggerated eye-roll as Fred broke character. He regained his Filch persona just as Madam Pince looked up. He coughed loudly, causing the librarian to frown at him.

"Shhhh!" she hissed automatically, putting her finger to her lips.

Chastened, Filch/Fred bowed his head. "I'm sorry, Madam." He cleared his throat wetly. "I caught a bit of a chill today. Not to worry. A few well-spent hours oiling the manacles in my office will clear my sinuses up a treat."

The librarian patted his hand. "I do understand, but please keep all noise to a minimum. Now, do excuse me for a moment." With that, she stood and began to pack away the tools of her trade. She performed a few last swish-and-flicks and the remainder of the re-catalogued books flew to their new locations. Madam Pince then pointed her wand at the lantern on her desk, causing it to dim and brighten three times in a row. In unison, all lanterns in the library followed suit.

Then, using a modified, toned-down version of the _Sonorus_ charm, she announced firmly to the library as a whole, " _The library is closing in five minutes. Pack away your things and prepare to leave."_

Library closing procedures well underway, she collected her keys and invited Filch/Fred to accompany her. She started her nightly patrol of the library aisles, shooing slowpoke students away from the bookshelves and breaking up snogging couples with well-aimed hexes. Her hawk-like eyes noted that students were indeed collecting their things and were departing. "Good riddance," she muttered. Filch/Fred nodded his agreement with a sneer on his face.

Her tour of the main part of the library completed, Madam Pince stopped in front of the roped off entrance to the Restricted Section. Raising her wand, she tested the wards and strengthened the Thief's Curse and other spells guarding the entry. Watching her at work, Fred was impressed. He'd always thought the rope looked like an inadequate barrier. Now he knew what he had suspected for years: the Restricted Section was strongly protected from marauders and unauthorized students.

He was startled out of his musings by Madam Pince's question, "So, what brings you here tonight, Mr. Filch?"

They had begun walking back to Madam Pince's desk, the last of the students filing out ahead of them. Madam Pince shooed the stragglers out and closed the door behind them, sighing in relief. Jingling her keyring, she looked at Filch/Fred.

Filch/Fred nervously cleared his throat yet again, knowing it was now or never. He had only a few minutes left before the Polyjuice started wearing off. Shuffling forward, he drew his arm out from behind his back, where he'd been hiding the thistle bouquet all the while. At the same time he reached into the pocket of his robes and withdrew the box of enchanted chocolates.

"I... er... stopped by this evening because… I wanted to give you a gift, to show the high regard and admiration I have for you... my dear Madam Pince." He roughly thrust the thistles and box toward her.

Madam Pince, taken aback, was left momentarily speechless. Mr. Filch, giving her... presents? Her eyes widened as she observed the flowers and book-shaped box. Tentatively, she gingerly took both items.

"Why, Mr. Filch! This is... an unexpected surprise!" as she spoke she moved toward her desk and placed the thistles in a battered, metal water pitcher. "These flowers are lovely! So natural and down-to-earth! And what a beautiful shade of purple they are..." Once again Filch/Fred rolled his eyes, though Madam Pince was now too preoccupied with the book-shaped box to notice.

"How very thoughtful of you!" the librarian continued to gush, admiring the box and slowly opening it. The gorge rose in Filch/Fred's throat as a genuine girlish giggle escaped Madam Pince's lips. _Merlin, please don't let me lose it. Please, please, please..._ he thought desperately to himself.

Madam Pince was chattering away, "I can't eat one _now,_ of course, not here in the library. No food or drink allowed. But..." She lifted the open box to her face, admiring the clever chocolates and inhaling deeply. Their fragrance surprised her. _Old books? The smell of silence... and what is that? Oh, the smell of well-oiled chains! Well now, that's...interesting._ She cast a speculative glance over Filch, new ideas forming in her mind.

Every moment now of the essence, Filch/Fred didn't leave her time to contemplate. He lurched forward and reached for Madam Pince's free hand with Filch's liver-spotted one. "Madam... may I call you Irma?" She smiled and nodded. "Irma, would you give me the pleasure of having dinner with me in Hogsmeade, this Saturday night?" His smile was sickly, but he hoped it came across as a nervous grin.

Madam Pince blushed to the roots of her bun. Smiling and giggling, she gazed at Filch/Fred with _Amortentia_ -besotted eyes and nodded her assent. "Yes, oh yes, I would be delighted for you to escort me to dinner this Saturday!"

Filch/Fred breathed a huge sigh of relief, and this time his smile was genuine inside and out. He had just begun to wonder how he would convince the real, very paranoid Filch that he did indeed have a date with Pince on Saturday, when the librarian herself unknowingly sealed the deal. Turning to her desk, she put down the chocolates and, after locating a tiny key on her keyring, she bent and unlocked the bottom drawer of her desk. Reaching in, she withdrew a heavy tome. Smoothing the cover with a loving hand, she turned back to Filch and, hesitating for just the briefest of moments, she held the book out to him.

"Mr. Filch... Argus. I know you've admired this book for ages. Please take it and enjoy it. Tell me what you think of it when we dine on Saturday. I'm loaning it to you..." the librarian closed her eyes, sighed, and opened them again with a sappy grin on her face. "...indefinitely."

Filch/Fred took the book and read the title aloud, " _An Illustrated Encyclopaedia of Medieval Torture Methods."_ He gulped and flicked through the book quickly. The illustrations made him feel sick again. He closed it, and laid on the charm full-force. "Irma, this is … this is wonderful! Thank YOU, I've wanted to read this for so long! I will treat it with reverence and care!" He tucked the book carefully into his robe, relaxing now that he had a token of Pince's assent to the dinner date.

Pince's eyes were shining, and Fred feared she'd be swooping in for some sort of romantic interlude if he didn't take his leave. He could feel the Polyjuice leaving his system. Thankfully, once again, luck interceded. There was a sudden loud clatter of metal and an unmistakable cackle from Peeves the poltergeist as he gaily pushed over the suits of armor in the hallway outside the library. This, Fred could work with.

"Argh! PEEVES!" Filch/Fred shouted in Filch's voice. Scowling and shaking his fist at the door, he turned to Madam Pince and wordlessly indicated his need to leave. She nodded her understanding, pursing her lips in mutual dislike of the pesky poltergeist. Filch/Fred bade her a quick farewell, promising to meet her here at the library at closing time on Saturday, before making his escape, throwing the door open and shuffling and lurching away as fast as he could.

Madam Pince watched him go, then turned and, still grinning like a loon, scooped up the chocolates and pitcher of thistles. She locked the library door behind her and made her way to her living quarters, thoughts of romance flitting through the rather rusty pathways in her brain.

* * *

Fred ran down the hall, rapidly reverting to his normal, youthful self. He blew a kiss at Peeves as he passed in a silent thanks for his diversion. In turn, Peeves blew a raspberry in Fred's direction, having no idea what he was on about and wondering why the hell a red-headed Filch was galloping through the passage. Happy in his chaotic world, Peeves returned to denting the armor with merry abandon.

Fred jumped into an empty classroom as the final effects of the Polyjuice left him. There he found George sitting, head down and cheek pressed against a desktop, fast asleep. Drool was pooling around his mouth.

Fred tiptoed over to George and quietly leaned over, putting his mouth close to his twin's ear. He yelled, "WAKEY WAKEY, EGGS AND BAKEY!"

George leapt to his feet, eyes wild, fists flailing blindly, and connected with Fred's jaw. Only half-aware of his surroundings, he grabbed Fred and wrestled him to the floor. The two brothers scuffled and fought for several minutes, rolling around and throwing punches, with Fred laughing maniacally in glee and relief. George finally woke fully and pushed Fred away. Panting, he looked questioningly at Fred, his eyes alight.

"Yes, the date is set, my brother!" crowed Fred. The twins, both with bloody noses, high-fived each other.

"Sorry I passed out while waiting." said George. "I guess last night's detention antics left me more tired than I thought. How was it?"

"I was really sweating it out at the end, George." admitted Fred. He stood up and fished around in the Filchified robes he was still wearing. He pulled out the book on torture methods. "She accepted the offer of a date – the _Amortentia_ worked brilliantly, through smell alone! But then I was worried that Filch wouldn't believe us, that crusty, paranoid old coot." Fred grumbled, but then beamed and continued, "Pince herself saved us on that one! She gave me – well, gave Filch – this book on torture that he's apparently been dying to read. It's horrible, right up his alley." He handed the book to George. "It's a kind of token of her acceptance of him as a suitor. Thank Merlin!" Fred paused and couldn't suppress a shudder. "Then for one dreadful moment, I was afraid she was going to kiss me! I have to say, Peeves saved the day!"

George flipped through the book quickly, gulped loudly at some of the illustrations, then slammed it shut. He wrapped his arm around Fred in a fierce, brotherly hug, and with his other hand used his brother's sleeve to wipe the blood off his own face and Fred's.

"Brilliantly done, Fred! You will go down in Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes history for this!" He laughed brightly. "Come on, let's get back to the common room. We'll go see Filch tomorrow and get Wood's playbook. Let's get Ron's dress robes back to him - I'm sure he's needing them - and we have a letter to write to Oliver. The hard parts are over, sweet victory is almost at hand!"

The twins marched out of the room and away towards Gryffindor Tower. As they went, they sang a happy little ditty.

"Argus and Irma up a tree...K-I-S-S-I-N-G!"

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **The game the twins played to determine who got to be Filch, "rock paper scissors dragon Merlin", is based on a variant of the old favorite "Rock Paper Scissors". Try this address below to read about it.**
> 
>  **http://www.samkass.com/theories/**


	5. Best Laid Schemes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The penultimate chapter, folks! Will everything come together for our favorite redheaded twins?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer: I own nothing in this fiction except the plot idea, and make no money from it. JK Rowling's characters and locations are all hers: Thank you, JKR!**

The twins awoke Thursday morning at the same moment. So eager were they to get the rest of their plan underway that they leapt out of bed simultaneously, only to smack their heads together. Cursing from the pain, they raced through the showers and hustled back to their room. After pulling on their discarded jeans from the day before, they then wasted precious minutes smelling the armpits of their shirts, seeking something clean enough to wear (their dirty laundry tended to languish on the floor of their room for days).

Finally dressed in clothes and school robes, Fred and George paused just long enough to change the still-snoring Lee Jordan's hair color to Weasley red ("He's always been like a brother to us," Fred whispered), then grabbed their schoolbags and pounded down the stairway to the common room. George would have gotten there first if it wasn't for Fred yanking on the back of his robes by the collar and then jumping ahead of him down the last three stairs at one go. However, George body-checked Fred into a sofa and made it to the portrait hole before him, where their fellow Quidditch players Angelina Johnson, Katie Bell, and Alicia Spinnet were just heading down to breakfast.

"Hello, girls! You all look quite fetching!" quipped George as he gave the three girls a charming smile. The young women shook their heads in bemusement.

"Yes indeed! I've never seen lovelier ladies this early in the morn!" Fred added as he came up to the group. He winked at Angelina, who grinned back. Stepping closer, he slid an arm around her waist and whispered in her ear, "...though I may have seen one lovely lady earlier than this, once or twice before now..."

Angelina elbowed him in the ribs as they followed the other girls out of the portal. "Quiet, you!" Fred chuckled and gave her a squeeze before releasing her. Angelina shook her head, smiling, and caught up to her girlfriends. George brought up the rear, watching the two of them with a rather solemn look on his face.

Fred grinned happily as the girls set off ahead of the twins. George fell into step beside him as they descended the stairs towards the Great Hall and food. He started talking about their plan, quietly so as not to be overheard, but soon realized Fred wasn't listening. He was staring off into space with a sappy look on his face as he watched Angelina's backside sway along ahead of them down the stairs. George sighed.

"Oi, Fred. Focus!" he said, snapping his fingers in his brother's face.

"Hunh? Oh, right! So sorry, beg pardon, what?" Fred jerked his head around to look dazedly at George.

"List...en...to...me...care...ful...ly." George said slowly, keeping Fred's attention. Once sure Fred's eyes were on him and not on Angelina's bum, he continued, "We've got to eat fast and find Filch before Charms class. Concentrate on our plan. Remember _The Joye of Snacks!_ Remember the Ogle Fruits! Eat one of those and Angelina _, along with everyone else,_ will be ogling _you._ "

At that, Fred's eyes lost their glazed look. It was replaced with one of severe concentration. "Of course. You are right, George. Must find Filch. Give book to Filch. Get playbook. Owl playbook to Oliver. Get bag. Give bag to Ron. Get socks. Give socks to Dumbledore. Get another book. Give book to Hermione. Get Hermione's help. Hermione gets us _The Joye of Snacks_. We finally make Ogle Fruits. Right!" He nodded at George and snapped his fingers, chuckling. He started rummaging in his bag. "Ah, here it is!" Fred pulled out the torture encyclopedia Pince had given him the night before and held it up triumphantly. "Right then! Let's eat, drink, and get the hell down to Filch's office with this! Come on, George, what are you dawdling about for? Let's go!" He sped off towards the smell of food.

George breathed deeply and released it, shaking his head, a lopsided grin once again gracing his face. Fred's greater impulsiveness sometimes led the twins into unnecessary trouble, but then again, it definitely kept things interesting.

A quick breakfast of porridge and pumpkin juice, eaten quickly with few words spoken to their Gryffindor tablemates, allowed the twins enough time to dart out of the Great Hall and down to the dungeons to locate Filch before morning classes. For the first time in their seven years at Hogwarts, they were looking forward to surprising the old caretaker with something other than a Dungbomb.

* * *

Filch was in his office, eating his own bowl of porridge and admiring the manacles hanging on his wall, shining in the torchlight. He jumped as twin redheads suddenly appeared, peeking around his doorjamb.

"What do you want!" he growled around a mouthful of porridge. "Can't you brats leave me in peace?"

The twins stepped fully through the doorway, Fred in the lead. They had identical smirks on their faces and stood in front of Filch's desk, hands behind their backs. George was whistling a tuneless ditty under his breath. Fred simply grinned.

"Well? Why are you here?" Filch demanded, his eyes narrowing. "What do you have behind your sneaky backs?"

Without a word, Fred brought his hands out from behind him and held out to Filch the much-coveted tome, _An Illustrated Encyclopaedia of Medieval Torture Methods._

When he realized what the precious item was that Fred was handing to him, Filch sucked in his breath in astonishment, and, because he hadn't yet swallowed his food, this started a violent and rather frightening coughing fit.

Heaving and choking, he irritably waved the twins away, who had instinctively hurried to either side of the old man and were hovering anxiously. Filch banged himself on the chest a few times and, finally, his coughing eased up and he was able to pick up the book that had fallen out of his grip onto his desk. He was overwhelmed. At long last, he held in his hands the book he had been dying to read for years but had never been able to convince Madam Pince to loan to him.

He opened the book at random and ran a trembling hand over an illustration of a Scold's Bridle. _Wonderful! Beautiful in its simplicity and purpose! That would shut these kids up..._ Memories of the good old days poured through the dank and dark dungeons of his mind.

"What did Madam Pince say to you?" he rasped. "How did you … why did she give you this? Does this... does this mean...?" the old man couldn't finish his question, but his rheumy eyes flickered back and forth between Fred and George's faces, the hope in his gaze painful to observe.

George patted the old man on the shoulder. _This is becoming a habit,_ he thought briefly. Aloud, he proclaimed heartily, "Filch, me old friend, you have a date."

"With Madam Pince," added Fred.

"This Saturday night -"

"- for dinner in Hogsmeade -"

"-once the library closes for the night, at eight sharp." George concluded, with a wink.

Filch was momentarily speechless. He opened and closed his mouth several times without issuing a sound. Watching this goldfish imitation with interest, the twins noted that their mother often had a similar expression on her face when talking to them. The idea of comparing their mother to _Filch_ of all people made them wince.

"This book is a token of her acceptance of your date proposal," Fred explained. "She was quite happy to give it to you, in fact. Got all misty-eyed." As he spoke, Fred's grin became fixed and his teeth clenched as he suppressed a shudder at the memory of his evening with Madam Pince.

Filch's jowls quivered as he momentarily broke into a grey-toothed grin, but it faded something occurred to him. " 'Ow did you two manage to speak to her? Yer banned from the library!" His face began to flush with anger.

George hastily held up his hands in a placating move. "Now now, who cares about the details? I assure you we did nothing to upset Madam Pince. Just ask her." He gave Filch a sly wink. "She's extremely excited, you know!"

Fred jumped in to add, "Yeah! Now listen, Filch. This is important. Um, she's... _decided_ it is okay for you two to be on a first name basis. You should be sure to call her 'Irma', all right?"

Filch eyed Fred suspiciously. "Why?" he queried.

"Why? Well, because!" Fred looked to George for assistance. They couldn't very well reveal what had actually transpired while Fred had arranged the date, especially since using Polyjuice the way they did was... well, not exactly legal.

"You know ... it's what you do, on a date!" George improvised, figuring Filch couldn't have been on many dates in his life, if any. "You've got to use first names. It's one of the rules."

"Rules?" Filch asked. "There are rules to dating?" He looked worried.

"Oh, yes! Very simple and direct they are, too!" Fred babbled. George punched him in the arm to stop him and said, "Filch, I think you'll have a swell time at dinner with Madam Pince. But, um, we need to get to Charms class -"

"- Yeah, we'd hate to be late, we wouldn't want Professor Flitwick to worry about us -" Fred was quick to recover.

"- and you are going to want to make dinner reservations somewhere in town, perhaps the Three Broomsticks?"

"Or Madam Puddifoot's -"

"- so, if you'll just give us Oliver Wood's Quidditch playbook, we'll be on our way to class and let you get to business," finished George quickly. He held out a hand, smiling brightly.

Filch looked from one twin to the other. He was rather dazed now, overwhelmed by the knowledge that he was actually going on a date with Madam Pince in – _Merlin's beard!_ \- just two days. There was so much to do, to prepare! Deep in thought, he turned like an automaton to the cabinet containing Oliver Wood's discipline file, found the correct folder, and withdrew the playbook. He held it in his hand, staring at it blankly, momentarily confused over what he was doing, but George leaned forward and plucked the precious playbook from him, swiftly tucking it away in his pocket.

"Thank you, Filch, it has been a pleasure!" George declared, shaking Filch's hand briefly then stepping backwards towards the door.

Fred quickly followed George, saying, "I speak for both of us when I say that, without a doubt, working with you, Filch, has been a memorable experience!"

Together, the twins paused and in one voice, said: "Good luck, tiger! A date with the librarian! _Rowr_!" At that, Filch finally broke out of his daze, growled, and shook his fist after the boys as they scampered off, laughing, down the hallway.

* * *

Fred and George had penned a letter to Oliver the night before. It was short and to the point:

" _Dear Oliver. How have you been Keeping (har har)? Here is your playbook. Filch kept it nice and safe for you. May it bring you the fame and fortune you deserve! You should know that in the process of retrieving this, Fred was almost kissed by Pince. Don't ask. Just send us that authentic Chudley Cannons autographed schoolbag for our brother Ron ASAP. Thanks. Keep safe (har har)! Your friends in tomfoolery and Quidditch, F & G." _

The school owl that they'd sent to Oliver was the regular carrier of many of their Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes owl-order parcels; not always the most stable of items to deliver, especially the ones containing Wildfire Whiz-Bangs. To say the owl was a bit leery of delivering yet another package for them was an understatement. They'd liberally bribed it with owl treats to go as fast as possible and asked it to wait for Oliver's return delivery, promising some choice raw meat from the kitchens upon its successful return. It flew away with visions of succulent beef dancing through its head.

The twins had had just enough time to send the playbook and the accompanying letter on their way to Oliver before Charms class began. It was one of the few subjects Fred and George actually found valuable and they honestly didn't want to miss it.

Professor Flitwick was just calling class to order when the twins arrived and sat in their customary seats at the back of the classroom. They and their Seventh-year classmates spent the double Charms period learning what they would need to focus on for their N.E.W.T. in the subject, and then practicing many of the spells they had learned during the previous six years.

When the bell rang, Fred and George fought against the exodus of students to reach Professor Flitwick's side. The diminutive teacher was busily re-stacking the books he used as a stool during lectures. He looked up and smiled at the twins as they approached him.

"Oh, hello, boys! It's good to have you in class again this year, I'll have you know. I've always thought you two had special talent where Charms are concerned!"

"Thanks, Professor, we have always found you and your lessons quite charming as well!"

Flitwick chuckled. "What can I do for you?"

George took the lead. "Well, Professor, it's like this. There is a particular book we'd like to borrow from the library."

"But, it's in the Restricted Section," added Fred.

"And, since we aren't teachers or teaching assistants -"

"- or Head Boys -" both boys closed their eyes and cringed at this thought.

"- we need a note from a professor to get the book. Would you sign our slip?" Fred and George grinned at their favorite professor. Fred held out a blank permission form.

"Oh, well now, I would be thrilled to help you in your scholastic pursuits, boys!" Flitwick beamed back at them. "You know it is never too late to set your minds to academics!" He stopped and thought, then said, "Seventh year is leaving it a _bit_ later than most students do... but never mind!" The little teacher climbed onto his stack of books, grabbed a quill from his desk, and began to sign the permission form. "So, what's the title of the book you want?"

" _Fancy Those Jokes_ ," intoned Fred, deadpan.

"Really? Well, that sounds like a fun book!" Flitwick wrote the title in the appropriate space. "' _FANCY THOSE JOKES_ '. Sounds harmless enough. Why would this be a Restricted Section title?" he mused.

"Ah, well, you know how those books are, Professor!" George exclaimed cheerfully. "This one apparently is very illustrative of _physical comedy_. Literally. It causes you to do pratfalls and all sorts of things."

"Right," Fred added. "Dad told us about reading it when he was here. Said it threw a pie in his face and then almost poked his eyes out. It's restricted to protect students from getting beaten to a pulp. But we can handle it!"

"Oh! My, my, I had no idea the library owned such a book. How interesting!" Flitwick finished signing his name and handed the slip to George. "Have fun with it, but be careful! Take heed of any warnings that Madam Pince gives you. Oh, that's right - haven't you two been banned from the library?" He looked at the boys with a quizzical expression.

"Yeah, we have, but not forever. We'll just wait until the ban is lifted," said Fred, his fingers crossed behind his back.

"This is mostly pleasure reading on our part, anyway," George said reassuringly. "We aren't in need of it for class work. Thanks, Professor!" He and Fred each raised a hand in a wave and then strode quickly away.

Professor Flitwick chuckled to himself. "Imagine, Fred and George Weasley, reading - for _fun_! Students never fail to surprise me..."

* * *

George and Fred sidestepped into an alcove once they'd gotten some distance away from the Charms classroom. George pulled the library permission slip out of his pocket. It was a pre-printed form, with a blank for the title to be added and a space for the teacher's signature. Their form read thusly:

" _The bearer of this slip has my permission to borrow the book '_ _FANCY THOSE JOK_ _ES_ _' from the library's Restricted Section. (Signed)_ _Professor Filius Flitwick_ _"_

"Bless him," said George.

"He's such an optimistic fellow," Fred agreed.

"Feeling guilty about this?"

"Nope!" Fred shook his head emphatically and tapped his wand on the title of the book written on the slip. Immediately, the letters began to glow and rose slightly off the paper, then swirled around, rearranging themselves, and settled back.

"There. Much better!" Fred declared.

The title of the book now written on the slip, still in Flitwick's handwriting, was: _'_ _THE JOYE OF SNACKS_ _'._

"Okay!" George tucked the paper back in his pocket and rubbed his hands together. "That's sorted. Fancy a game of Exploding Snap before lunch?"

* * *

The rest of Thursday and all of Friday passed by with no owls arriving for the twins. Professor Umbridge had been declared High Inquisitor earlier in the week and the school's atmosphere was edgy and irritated. Quidditch practice didn't relieve much of the stress. By Saturday morning, Fred and George were twitchy with stress and impatience.

Saturday's breakfast consisted of bacon, eggs, and beans on toast. Seamus Finnegan was entertaining the Gryffindor table with uncanny impressions of Umbridge (Irish lilt notwithstanding) when finally, at long last, the Owl Post arrived. The Great Hall was filled with cheers and shouts as owls delivered care packages from home to various students, along with newspapers, letters, and other mail. Fred and George each sat stiffly upright, eyes flicking from owl to owl but trying to be nonchalant about it.

Their familiar school owl was one of the last to appear, struggling in through a window with a bulky brown paper package strapped to its legs. The owl tiredly swooped down to land on the table, hooting quietly. George petted and praised the owl and offered it a plateful of bacon, promising to bring the gift of raw meat to it later in the Owlery, while Fred quickly untied the package. He ripped it open and hooted his own delight as the paper revealed bright orange canvas.

"Brilliant! Check this out, George!" He pulled the bag free of its wrappings. There in all its glowing orange glory was a Chudley Cannons schoolbag, covered on all sides with the signatures of the Chudley Cannons Quidditch team members. A short note was pinned to the outer flap of the bag.

"Oliver writes, _'Thanks for the playbook! You two are brilliant. Someday you will have to tell me the story behind this. Here is the bag. I got everyone on the CC to sign it. Have a great season of Quidditch a_ _t Hogwarts,_ _I know I will here. Cheers! -_ _Oliver' "_ George read aloud.

"This is excellent - it looks like both the first string and reserve teams signed it!" Fred gloated, as he watched Ron from the corner of his eye. Ron, several seats down the table, had definitely noticed what Fred was holding and was ogling the bag quite openly. Their eyes met. Fred winked at him, and Ron, after a stunned moment, grinned broadly.

The twins quickly finished their meals and, taking the bag with them, bade farewell to the others and sauntered out of the Great Hall towards Gryffindor Tower.

They hadn't gone far when they heard the sounds of large feet slapping the floor as someone ran up to them. It was Ron.

"Oi, Fred, George!" Ron panted. "Wait!"

The twins smiled knowingly at each other and stopped, turning around to face their younger brother.

"Why _, Ronnie-kins_!"

"How good to see you!"

"Didn't Mum ever tell you that you shouldn't run so soon after eating?"

"Come off it, Fred." gasped Ron, rubbing a stitch in his side. "Is that my new schoolbag you've got there?"

George shrugged.

"Maybe. Maybe not. I rather like it myself." He pointed out one of the signatures to Fred. "Look, here's their Seeker, Galvin Gudgeon!"

Fred turned his body slightly, shielding the bag from Ron's craning gaze. "Yeah! And here's Joey Jenkins, one of their Beaters!"

Though taller than the twins, Ron was unsuccessful in getting a good look at the bag due to their dual blocking tactics. "Guys!" he whined. Fred and George laughed and relented. Fred held the bag up so Ron could see it, but he didn't hand it over to Ron just yet.

"Socks first, Ron. _Then_ , we'll give you the bag and you can stop smelling like sick."

"Okay! Let's go get the socks! Now!" Ron quickly led the way up the stairs towards their common room. He babbled excitedly as they went. "You know, I didn't really think you would follow through, but you did! You're all right, really... for pranking wankers, that is. _Plinth niblet!_ " That last was the current password, directed towards the Fat Lady's portrait, which swung open to allow the boys' entrance.

"Thanks, Ron. You certainly are aces with compliments," remarked George.

"Yeah. No wonder girls are crawling all over you," Fred said as they climbed the stairs to Ron's room.

Ron scowled as he opened the door to the fifth year boys' dormitory. "I could have a girlfriend if I wanted one," he mumbled. He crossed to the trunk at the end of his bed. He opened it and stepped back. "There. All my worldly possessions. Pathetic, really. Take whatever pair of socks you want." He picked up his old vomit-soaked schoolbag and began to empty everything out of it.

Fred and George bent over the trunk. They saw a hodgepodge of underwear, socks, Famous Wizards Cards, broken quills, gobstones, old robes, old schoolbooks, and empty ink bottles – in short, the usual detritus found in the trunk of a male teenaged wizard. The smell that rose from it was indescribable. It was almost sentient.

"Cripes, Ron," gagged Fred. "You might want to air this trunk out a little, before it sprouts feet and attacks you!"

"Yeah, this is ... rank!" gulped George, holding his breath and looking hastily through the odds and ends for a clean pair of maroon socks.

Ron looked over, an eyebrow raised. "Am I receiving cleaning advice from the Twin Shirt-Sniffing Brothers? Whatever." He tossed his now-empty bag into the corner of the room.

George pulled his hand out of the bottom-most corner of Ron's trunk. "Ah ha! Look at these babies!" He unrolled a pristine pair of thick, warm, hand-knit and above all _maroon_ _,_ socks. "Never been worn, it appears! Are these from last Christmas?"

Ron shrugged, looking the socks over briefly and handing them back to George. "Who knows? Probably. I swear I've never used them in any way whatsoever, up to and including wearing them. They are good as new. _Now_ can I have my bag?" He was practically salivating.

"You've got a stellar pair of socks here, brother, and they are unsullied by any of your bodily fluids. That's exactly what we wanted." Fred tossed the Chudley Cannons bag towards Ron, who caught it eagerly. "Enjoy your prize!"

"Don't let any sickly first-years near it!" grinned George as he stuffed the socks in his pocket, and he and Fred left laughing as Ron called after them, "Har har! …Gits..."

* * *

It was now mid-morning. The Headmaster's guardian gargoyle groaned and covered its rocky face with its claws when it saw who was coming down the passage.

"Oh gods, not you two again."

Fred and George stood smiling side by side, arms folded.

"Now, Gargy, that's not a very pleasant greeting! We've done nothing to hurt you!"

The gargoyle glowered. "In this job, paranoia's just good thinking."

"That's a fair point," conceded George. "But we don't have time to fool around today. Let's make this quick, shall we?"

" _Opal Fruits_!" the twins chorused.

"Gosh, your amazing, just-over-a-week-long memories astound even me," scoffed the gargoyle. It stepped aside. "Enter. And no running this time!"

"Alrighty then." The twins linked arms and, nodding at the gargoyle, skipped through the portal and up the steps to the headmaster's office. They heard the stony statue grumbling and muttering behind them.

Knocking on the door, they heard Dumbledore's muffled-but-familiar voice bid them enter. The old wizard looked up and smiled softly as the twins skipped into the room.

"Hello, Mr. Weasley and Mr. Weasley. How are you this fine autumn weekend morning?"

"Smashing, sir, simply smashing!"

"Never better!"

"That is very good to hear," replied the Headmaster. "It seems many people in the castle are in good spirits these last few days, despite the atmosphere. Madam Pince was positively cheerful yesterday when I went to see her about borrowing a particular book." He peered at the twins over the tops of his glasses. "She actually let me sign out _Theories of Trans_ _ubstantial Transfiguration_ with just one warning, not her usual three."

"Gosh, that's excellent news, sir!" said George. "We're glad you were able to get the book so easily!"

"Indeed," remarked Dumbledore. "You two wouldn't happen to know why our usually-dour librarian has recently been overheard humming a Muggle show tune 'My White Knight'?"

"No sir, has she really?" commented Fred, politely.

"Oh yes. Would you perhaps have an idea why Mr. Filch has been heard singing what sounds like the words to another Muggle song, 'Marian the Librarian', while mopping the corridors?"

The twins blinked in unison. "Has he? Imagine that..." said George, innocently, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly.

"Mmmm. Yes. Quite a memorable thing to witness, I understand. No matter, no matter. So!" Dumbledore smiled. "Do I assume correctly that you two are here to honor our agreement?"

"Hunh? Oh, yes!" George withdrew the balled-up maroon socks from his pocket, unrolled and shook them out, and presented them to Dumbledore with a flourish. "Our mum's finest work," he said.

The headmaster took the socks from George and held them up, squishing them with his fingers. "Oh, lovely! Your mother does have a talent, doesn't she!" Without another word, Dumbledore sat on a nearby sofa and lifted one of his feet onto a squashy hassock. He proceeded to remove his pointy wizard shoe and its accompanying threadbare sock, treating the twins to a horrifying glimpse of a pasty white, flat foot, with bluish veins shining through the translucent skin and yellow-nailed, gnarled toes. Dumbledore quickly slid his foot into one of the thick maroon socks and sighed blissfully. Wiggling his toes, he quickly repeated the process.

Fred and George stood awkwardly, wondering if they were the only students in the history of Hogwarts to have seen the headmaster's naked feet. Fred bit the insides of his cheeks to keep from laughing, while George clasped his hands behind his back and carefully studied the portraits of past headmasters hanging on the walls.

"Oh yes, these are truly wonderful socks! My compliments to your mother, her skills are unmatched!" Dumbledore said happily, hopping spryly to his feet after having re-donned his shoes. He bobbed up and down a few times on his toes. "You certainly kept your part of the bargain, boys. I thank you from the bottoms of my feet! So here," he retrieved a thin volume from his desk, "is the book I promised to acquire for you to give Miss Granger: _Theories of Transubstantial Transfiguration."_ He held out the book to Fred, who took it with relief.

"Thank _you,_ sir!" he said fervently. "You can trust Hermione, she'll take excellent care of it." Dumbledore smiled, noting that Fred didn't include himself or George in his trustworthiness statement.

"Be sure you tell her not to write in it. It packs a powerful wallop," Dumbledore warned, absently rubbing the side of his head in memory.

"Absolutely, we'll pass on the message. Thank you so much for this, sir!" The twins headed for the door, anxious to find Hermione. They were so close now to their goal...

"Fred? George? There is just one more thing."

The twins halted, surprised to hear the use of their first names, especially by their headmaster.

"Yes, Professor?"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as he smiled at the mischievous Weasleys. "I wish you luck in all your endeavors. Humor is extremely important, and never more so than in dark times. Here is one last piece of advice: If you cannot wear warm socks, at the very least, s _emper ubi sub ubi ubique."_

"Uh, right. Thank you, Professor. We will keep that firmly in mind!" George said, and Fred nodded fervently. The door closed behind them, and the stunned twins were followed down the stairs by peals of merry laughter.

* * *

When lunchtime arrived, Fred and George were the first on the scene at the Gryffindor table. They had the _Transfiguration_ book with them, ready to give to Hermione, along with the signed permission note from Professor Flitwick. They couldn't sit still. They were _so close_ to their goal of acquiring _The Joye of Snacks_ cookbook. The excitement rolled off them in waves as they joked with each other and their housemates. It was infectious. Soon the entire table was boisterous and rowdy, with food flying and practical jokes being played.

Hermione arrived in the midst of this chaos, shaking her head at the out-of-control antics of the other Gryffindors. Before she could attempt to establish any order in her role as prefect, however, Fred and George had jumped up, swooped in, and dragged her to the table to sit between the two of them. Grinning like fools, they heaped her plate with ham, peas, and garlicky mashed potatoes, with a bowl of fruit salad for dessert.

"Eat up, sweetheart!" coaxed Fred, holding up a forkful of ham for her.

"Must keep up your strength!"

"You have a library book to retrieve for us after lunch!"

Hermione, who had good-naturedly taken the ham from Fred, swallowed hard and sputtered at the twins. "Oh no, we had a deal! A copy of _Theories of_ _Transubstantial Transfiguration_ needs to be in my hands first, and _then_ I will -" She stopped as George shoved the book at her, pushing her plate aside.

"Oh!" Hermione picked up the slim tome and caressed its cover lovingly. She opened the book and quickly took a deep whiff of the pages, much to the twins' shock and merriment. Realizing what she'd done, her cheeks pinked and she closed the book hurriedly.

"Gosh, Hermione. Don't let _us_ keep you from having a moment!" razzed Fred.

"Oh shut up," she hissed, blushing even more. She ducked a dinner roll tossed her way by Dean Thomas.

"You did bear an eerie resemblance to Pince just then; you might want to be careful." George added, poking her gently in the ribs.

"Yeah, it would be hard to explain a paper cut on the end of your nose..."

"Shut up, will you!" Hermione muttered again, scowling. "I like books! There's no harm in that." She straightened her back. "Well then. You've gotten the book for me – and thank you _very much_ for that – so now I will do what I said I would do. Do you have a signed note from a teacher?"

George pulled out the note with Flitwick's signature and handed it to Hermione. She unfolded it and read it over.

"Wow, I must say I'm surprised you got him to agree to give you permission for that book. How did you do it?" she asked Fred.

"Oh, there was nothing much too it really. He thought the book we told him about sounded very interesting, in fact." Fred smiled blithely.

Hermione looked at him silently for a long moment, an eyebrow raised. She squinted closely at the permission form.

"What?" he asked.

She came to a decision. "Nothing. Let me just finish eating and then we'll go to the library, all right?" Fred and George nodded eagerly, and sat in silence, watching every bite Hermione took, until, at last unnerved by their close observation of her fork-to-mouth movements, she said she was finished and rose to leave. They escorted her out, insisting on carrying her bag for her. George winked at a frowning Ron as they passed him.

"See? _This_ is how you win points with the ladies!"

* * *

Hermione approached Madam Pince's desk with pure innocence of purpose, secure in her knowledge of the library, her understanding of Madam Pince's quirks, and her reliance on the fact that she held a _bona fide_ Restricted Section permission form in her hands. She faltered a bit in front of the desk, however, because Madam Pince was quietly humming Celestina Warbeck's "A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love" as she filed papers. Hermione cleared her throat, gently. "Madam Pince?" she began.

The librarian looked up, rather dreamily. "Yes? Hello, Miss Granger, is there something you need?"

Hermione gaped at this almost-offer of assistance, but she pulled herself together quickly. "I'd like to borrow a Restricted Section book, please, Madam Pince. I have a signed note." She gave the form to the librarian.

Madam Pince, smiling ( _smiling?)_ gently, took the form from Hermione and looked it over. She read it carefully three times (Hermione watched her eyes). She held it up to the lantern light. She licked her thumb and rubbed it over Professor Flitwick's signature. She crumpled it, then smoothed it out and examined it again.

"Well, Miss Granger, the permission form certainly seems to be the genuine article," she said at last.

"Yes, it is." Hermione had decided short answers would be simplest.

"And, we do have this book, _The Joye of Snacks,_ in the Restricted Section. It was part of Professor Lockhart's collection," continued Madam Pince, conversationally.

"Yes, so I understand." agreed Hermione.

"You may not borrow it," finished the librarian.

"I underst-, excuse me? What was that?" Hermione was surprised. Though Madam Pince was a stickler for protocol, when the rules were properly followed she was generally compliant.

"You may not borrow the book," repeated Madam Pince, firmly.

"Oh, I see. Um, does it have to be used here in the library due to a curse or hex? That won't be a problem, I can just copy..." Hermione started to say, rummaging for parchment and quill in her bag, but she was interrupted again.

"No. You may not access it, period." The librarian turned back to her paperwork.

"But, but...if you please, Madam Pince – why? Why can't I look at it?" Hermione's voice was beginning to rise. She couldn't believe that she, of all people, was being denied access to a book despite following library regulations.

"Sshhh! Miss Granger, lower your voice!" Madam Pince scowled at her. Hermione gulped and nodded, abashed.

"You may not look at, borrow, or touch that book in any way. Why, you ask?" the librarian's scowl grew deeper, her former good mood apparently gone. "Because, young lady, that is the very same title that those infernal Weasley twins were inquiring about almost two weeks ago. There is much too much recent interest in that cookbook," she continued, standing up.

"You Gryffindors are up to something. I know you are friends with the youngest Weasley boy. I'm certain you are trying to help his brothers in some way. Well, not if I have any say in the matter!" Madam Pince brandished her wand, pointing it at Hermione. "I will give you one chance to leave without losing library privileges. If I have to ask you again to leave, Miss Granger, you will be banned, just as those Weasley brats have been!"

Hermione was already halfway to the door before Madam Pince had finished speaking.

Madam Pince, satisfied she'd protected another book from the evil-doings of the student body, returned to her filing, humming dreamily under her breath. _Just 7 more hours to go, and Argus and I will be heading to Hogsmeade..._

* * *

The twins, who had been waiting a safe distance down the corridor from the library, straightened up in alarm as Hermione ran towards them. Her face was flushed and she looked on the verge of tears.

"What happened, Hermione?" asked George. Hermione stopped in front of him and poked him in the chest with her finger.

"You two! You are what happened! If you hadn't asked for that book in the first place... if you'd just followed the rules from the beginning and gotten a signed note like you _are supposed to_...!" she stopped, panting.

"Hermione, tell us what she said!" Fred implored. She turned to him and stabbed him with the same finger, emphasizing her point.

"She said I couldn't look at or touch or in any way make use of that cookbook, because _you two_ have already been asking for it. She said it is too much interest in one book from us Gryffindors and she won't let me see it. She doesn't want me aiding _you two_ in any way!" Hermione took a deep breath and almost wailed, " _I almost lost my library privileges!_ I hope you are happy! Forget that book and move on with your lives! I'm done!" She stormed away, fuming.

George watched Hermione disappear down the hall, then looked at Fred and frowned. Fred turned and kicked the wall. "Damn it! This is ridiculous! All that work! We're right back where we started! Even when we _try_ to _sort of_ follow the rules, it doesn't work!"

"Yeah. You know what this means?" George mused.

"Yes! War!"

"No, it means more Polyjuice."

Fred stopped mid-kick. "What?"

George explained. "Yeah. Pince and Filch will be gone tonight, on their little dinner date, right? This is it. The big one. Our best chance. We still have some Polyjuice left. Let's use it, break into the library, and get. That. Book."

Fred grinned a wicked grin. "Excellent! This is what we were made for! None of this 'playing by the rules' hogwash!" He pointed a finger at his brother. "But this time, George, _you_ are going to be Filch! I'm finished with that act!"

"Fine with me," George shrugged. _"You're_ going to be Pince."

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's Notes:**
> 
>  **Darn. This time it didn't work out! Will Fred and George ever be successful in their attempts to acquire _The Joye of Snacks?_ Find out, next chapter! In the meantime, reviews are welcome! :)**
> 
>  **I made myself feel ill looking at all the various types of torture devices used in history. Good grief, humans are so awful to each other! The Scold's Bridle is tame in comparison to most other items. Want to see what one looked like? Try: http:/ en(dot)wikipedia(dot)org/ wiki/ Scold's_bridle**


	6. To the Victor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay. This is it. The big one!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer: I own nothing in this fiction except the plot idea, and make no money from it. JK Rowling's characters and locations are all hers: Thank you, JKR!**

_Saturday night, late September, Gryffindor Common Room_

The Saturday night party in the Gryffindor common room was in full-swing. The twins had paid a secret visit to Hogsmeade earlier in the day and brought back supplies of drinks, snacks, and Zonko's novelties for the party, supplemented by their own Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. The room was loud, brightly-lit, and full of raucous laughter. In complete defiance of Educational Decree Number Twenty-Four, recently passed by Umbridge, High Inquisitor of Hogwarts, the Gryffindors were gathering together in as big a group as possible and playing as hard as they could.

"She didn't say anything in that Decree of hers about House parties, now did she!" chortled Fred. He kicked his legs over the arm of his comfy chair and gestured with his bottle of butterbeer that Angelina should join him. Giggling, Angela flopped into his lap rather heavily, raising a grunt from Fred and a snort of amusement from George.

"I don't know if I want to sit here, Fred," remarked Angelina. "It's rather lumpy." She squirmed around, pretending to be uncomfortable.

Fred grunted again and muttered, "It's only going to get lumpier if you keep that up!"

George, sitting on a nearby sofa, reached out and clinked his own butterbeer against Angelina's, winking at her. She smirked and took a sip. She lifted her chin towards a corner of the room, where Neville Longbottom, of all people, was currently being chatted up by Gryffindor girls of all ages. Neville's face was flushed red and he was grinning madly, even while his eyes were cast shyly down in puzzled embarrassment.

"What's up with Neville tonight? He's surrounded by women and doesn't know quite what to do! .… mind you, he IS looking rather dashing... I wonder what's different about him?" Angelina asked, her gaze focusing more on the shy fifth-year. George, delighted, leaned over and low-fived Fred briefly, who looked equally pleased with himself.

"Oh, well, he's..." George started to speak but was interrupted by Lee Jordan, who leapt over the back of the sofa and landed with an undulating _thud_ next to him. He clinked his bottle against George's, passed around a bag of Bertie Bott's Every-Flavour Beans, and said, "Oi, guys, great party! And check that out, you don't see that every day! Neville is Man of the Hour right now!"

Fred and George nodded with self-satisfied looks on their faces.

Angelina's eyebrows rose as she noticed the twins' smug expressions. "Are you two are part of this? What did you do to poor Neville?"

Lee laughed, chewing a hot dog-flavoured bean with relish. He swallowed and asked, "Angelina, does Neville _look_ like he's feeling 'poorly' to you?"

Alicia Spinnet came and sat next to Lee, squishing him over so she could sit between him and George. "Neville is looking _fine_ to me! Just _fine_!" Her eyes twinkled as she looked over at Neville appreciatively.

"Is he, now?" asked George, pretending to take notes with imaginary parchment and quill. "Can you put a finger on what it is about him that seems appealing?"

Alicia gave Neville the once over again, then pursed her lips thoughtfully as she dug around in Lee's bag of beans, selecting a dark brown one. She popped it in her mouth. "Mmmm, beefcake!" she exclaimed. She turned to George. "I don't know what it is, really. Neville just … looks good! He's easy on the eyes tonight. I can't stop ogling him!"

George high-fived Fred again, who threw back his head and laughed. Lee looked from one grinning twin to the other and sat up a little straighter. "Okay, you two," he said. "Spill it. Last I knew you two were floundering around outside the library after Hermione got threatened by Pince. Did you actually manage to get the Ogle Fruits recipe?"

The twin grins simply widened even further as Alicia and Angelina asked together, "What Ogle Fruits recipe?"

"You sly dogs!" Lee was grinning like mad. "That's brilliant! You _did_ get the Ogle Fruits recipe! Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

Again the girls said, " _What_ Ogle Fruits recipe?"

Fred rolled his eyes skyward, pursing his lips as he tried to look serious. "What say you, George - should we tell them?"

George pondered for just a second or two as he swigged from his bottle. He nodded. "Yep, let's tell 'em. After all, Lee played a crucial role in our being able to accomplish this. He certainly deserves to know, and the girls, well, shucks," he winked. "They've been our friends forever."

"Darn right we have," said Angelina. She squirmed around as she settled herself more firmly in Fred's lap, enjoying the pained whimpers her movements elicited. "Spill it."

George leaned closer and, resting his elbows on his knees, began to speak quietly, causing Alicia and Lee to automatically lean forward to hear him over the noise of the party. Fred and Angelina bent closer too.

"First let me summarize. We've been trying to get hold of a particular book from the Restricted Section for ages, as it had a sweets recipe in it we wanted to try for Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes."

Fred added, "But, we got banned from the library for being honest, so we had to jump through a lot of hoops to make it possible for Hermione to ask for the book for us."

"Unfortunately, Madam Pince threatened Hermione with the same fate she gave us, so we were left hanging high and dry." George narrowed his eyes and took several gulps from his butterbeer.

Fred said, "We decided to do what we do best – be creative, cunning and clever – and get that book ourselves."

"How?" asked Angelina.

George grinned at her. "With the help of our friend Polly."

"Polly? Polly who?"

* * *

 _Saturday evening, two weeks prior_

The Polyjuice Potion was hiding in the back of the drawer of George's bedside table, just where they'd left it. They'd used half of one of the bottles for Fred's Filch impersonation but there was still enough left, they hoped, for their plan. The other small bottle was still inactive, as it hadn't had the essential ingredient added yet: a hair from Madam Pince.

George lifted out both vials. Fred, meanwhile, was rummaging through his trunk for the manky old boots and old dress robes they'd used to make the Filch costume. He found them both – _Oh good, I thought we'd given these robes back to Ron -_ and threw them on George's bed.

"There's your costume, George," Fred announced. "And these," he flourished a rather feminine-looking set of old-fashioned black school robes, "are going to be my Pince robes for the evening."

"Good ol' Ginny came through, heh? Excellent. She's so much more helpful than ickle Ronniekins."

"Yeah, Mum had given them to her. Hell if I know why, d'ya think Ginny would be caught dead wearing these? But they _do_ look like Pince's robes. And, at least it will be at night, and Pince and Filch will both be out in Hogsmeade." Fred mused. "We don't have to be completely convincing. Who the heck's going to care?"

"Umbridge."

"Yeah, but she's probably going to be torturing some poor student in her office with that Blood Quill of hers tonight. She won't be hanging around the library."

"Good point! Put on your costume, I'll put on mine! It's almost eight. We've got a library to pillage!"

* * *

 _Back at the party..._

"Wait a minute, you two broke into the library – _dressed as Filch and Pince?_ " asked Alicia, her mouth agape.

" _Au contraire_ , dear Alicia! Not _dressed_ as Filch and Pince – we _became_ Filch and Pince!" George wagged his finger. "That's how Polyjuice works!"

"Blimey..." Lee looked thoughtfully at Fred.

"What?" Fred asked.

"How was it? You know... being Pince? Is she as wrinkly as we suspect? Wait, don't answer that. I don't want that image in my head. How did you get her hair for the Polyjuice potion to work?" Lee queried.

Fred waved that aside. "Actually, that was easy … but first, we had to get inside the library. We snuck down to Filch's office and 'borrowed' his keys, then..."

* * *

 _Outside the library door..._

"Clear?"

"Clear. No one coming."

Fred rattled the door. "Locked," he affirmed.

George took out the small vial of Filchified Polyjuice Potion, pulled the stopper, and drained the contents in one go. He shuddered violently. Fred watched in horrified fascination as his brother's cheerful (and undoubtedly handsome, Fred thought) features transformed into the unsettling visage of Argus Filch, Hogwarts Caretaker and permanent thorn in the Weasley twins' sides. At the same time his body morphed into Filch's thin, humpbacked, crooked figure. Already wearing the disgusting dress robes Fred had used before, George was a sight to behold.

"How do I look?" George/Filch rasped.

"Bloody awful."

"Wicked." George grinned with Filch's greying teeth. He was amazed at how arthritic, clumsy and awkward he felt in the caretaker's ancient body. _Crikey, this sucks_ , he thought to himself. Then he remembered that Fred would soon take on the appearance of Pince. He smirked. _This is so worth it._

Taking the borrowed keyring from his robe pocket, George/Filch shambled over to the door lock and fumbled with the keys until he found one that fit. The door creaked open, and he gave Fred a thumbs-up.

"We're in!"

Together, the boys carefully entered the library, half-expecting an alarm to sound or a net to fall upon them. They wouldn't have put it past Madam Pince to have the place booby-trapped against their presence. Nothing happened, so the first order of business was to get Fred changed into the librarian. Fred cast _Lumos_ to light his wand, and they approached her desk, George limping and Fred looking particularly uncomfortable in the too-short women's robes he was wearing.

"Why do I have to change into Pince, again?" He hoped he could find a flaw in George's reasons.

"Because," George muttered, as he opened and closed drawers. "You need to look like you belong here, in case Snape or Umbridge or some other annoying authority figure happens along." He looked carefully at the desk chair. "Fred and George Weasley are banned from the library, remember?" He peered at the sweater hanging on the back of the chair and gave a sudden, hoarse cry of triumph as he plucked a hair out of the grey knitted yarn.

Unfortunately for him, his yelp set off a frightening coughing fit that had him hacking and wheezing over the wastepaper bin for a good five minutes. George finally got control of his breathing again, but he'd lost the hair. Luckily, the sweater was full of other white hairs that had escaped from the dour librarian's bun, so it was quick work to secure another.

Fred, resigned to getting in touch with his feminine side, uncorked the little bottle of undoctored Polyjuice, dropped the hair into it, and once it stopped fizzing, saluted George with it and took a healthy swig.

"Eeeeyugh! Pince tastes like … like... library paste!" he gagged, then felt himself shrinking in height and size, his face beginning to pinch and a permanent scowl forming on his brow. His hair whitened and lengthened, and suddenly the world looked quite fuzzy. He squinted around, and suddenly heard muffled gruntings from next to the desk.

"George? I can't see very well, where are you?" Fred/Pince clapped his hands over his mouth as he heard the distinctly unpleasant voice of the librarian issuing forth.

Meanwhile, George/Filch was trying desperately not to fly into a fit of hysterical laughter. Watching his brother shrink and morph into a female was funny in its own right, but to see him become the nasty old crone that was Madam Pince was a riot. George/Filch finally lost control of his mirth and let loose a loud braying laugh when Fred/Pince, fumbling around with outstretched hands, tripped over the wastepaper bin and fell to the floor, cursing a blue streak.

"Fred!" he gasped, hands on knees, wheezing and spitting as he tried to regain composure. "I don't think Madam Pince would ever really say 'Wanking fucking bollocks'. Try to stay in character, would you?"

Fred/Pince got to his feet and scowled in George/Filch's general direction. He threw the two-fingered salute his way for good measure, earning himself another quick burst of chuckles from his twin.

"Damn it, I can't see, George! The old bat must really need those glasses! Help me out here, I can't get around!"

George paused to hawk up some phlegm and spit it into the bin, then he began to paw around in the librarian's sweater some more.

"Hold on, bro, I think I've found... yeah, here they are. Must be her spare set of specs." He lurched over to his brother and put the glasses, which were on a chain, around Fred's neck. Fred immediately grabbed them and put them on. They slid naturally to the end of his nose, and he found he was finally able to see clearly, peering through them like the nearsighted vulture Pince so often resembled.

"Transformation complete." George/Filch remarked.

"Shut up." Fred/Pince snarled. He reached down to scratch himself and suddenly was horrified to realize …

" _My balls are gone!_ " he shrieked. Instinctively, he pulled the robes up to look down at his very Pince-y crotch, the sight of which made him recoil in terror and he fell over the wastepaper bin again.

George/Filch's eyes popped open in shared horror and revulsion for an instant, and then the increased hilarity of the situation struck George and he collapsed over the edge of the desk, snorting so loudly in his laughter that he couldn't stand up.

"That's … not all... that's missing... Freddie!" he gurgled.

Fred climbed to his feet and after casting a strong Stinging Hex at George's nether regions, stalked off through the library shelves. The resultant _Yipe!_ this elicited from George/Filch was satisfyingly pained.

 _At least Pince is quite spry_ , he was pleased to note. _Not like that git Filch, the walking corpse._ He quickly out-paced his Filch-y brother.

"Come on, you sodding arsehole, we've wasted enough time as it is. We've got to get this done quickly! Keep up!" he called back over his shoulder.

George, whimpering from the Stinging Hex but unable to stop giggling, limped off after his brother. Tears were running down his face, snot dangled from his Filch nose, and he was enjoying himself immensely.

* * *

 _In the common room..._

Lee was laughing uproariously, slumped all the way down on the sofa, legs outstretched, tears running down his face as he clutched his belly. Alicia and Angelina were both shrieking with glee, while George grinned toothily at Fred who sat stoically in the midst of the mirth. He drained his butterbeer bottle and rolled it across the floor to join its brothers in the growing pile of empties near the fireplace.

"Oh, sure. You laugh now. Someday, you'll all look back at this day and feel terrible that you took the piss out of my misfortune."

Lee wiped tears from his face as he said, "Man! Come on! You _lost_ your **_balls!_** Not to mention your -"

"All right!" Fred snapped. "Geez. Would someone please get me another butterbeer?"

Alicia hopped up, smiling. "I think we could all use another round. Be right back." She weaved around rowdy Gryffindors as she headed to the drinks table to grab five more bottles.

Fred continued to grumble for a moment, but then looked up at Angelina, who was still seated in his lap, and winked. "Everything's back to normal now though, isn't it, Ang?"

Angelina ruffled his hair. "You got that right, Freddie-me-love." She smiled saucily and then thanked Alicia as she took the drink her friend proffered her.

Lee waggled his eyebrows, raised his bottle in a silent salute to Fred's complete recovery, and then turned back to George. "So, what happened next? How did you get into the Restricted Section?"

Alicia echoed his question, and George, who had been fiddling with the label on his bottle, cleared his throat and continued his tale.

"Well, Fred/Pince was walking ahead of me, right? So I ..."

* * *

 _In the library near the Restricted Section..._

Fred/Pince felt a breeze on his legs. Then he felt it again. By the third time, he whipped around, glaring at George/Filch, who stood frozen in place with his wand guiltily upraised, his mouth open. The brothers stared at each other for a moment, then...

" _Ventus,"_ George/Filch whispered, rheumy eyes twinkling. The bottom of Fred/Pince's robe flipped up in the air once again.

"Stop. Playing. With. My. _Robes_!" Fred/Pince hissed.

"I can't help it, those librarian's legs of yours really get my manacles in a knot!" wheezed George/Filch.

"You need serious help, George. Seriously." Fred about-faced and stomped off towards the back of the library. He halted in front of the Restricted Section entrance. Here he pondered the innocent-appearing rope.

George/Filch caught up and clutched his chest as he looked at the rope, then Fred/Pince.

"Okay, Fred," he wheezed, hoarsely. "I'm done yanking your chain. You watched what Pince did at closing time. You're the expert here. What did she do?"

Fred/Pince pursed his lips, looking over the top of his spectacles and tapped his wand against his knee. He crossed his arms over his chest in thought, but was distracted for a moment when he realized that though he'd temporarily lost his family jewels, he'd gained a not half-bad pair of breasts. He started to squeeze them a little, but froze a second later. _What am I_ ** _doing?_** _This is_ ** _Pince!_** _I'll never live this down if George catches me._ He lowered his arms and aimed his lit wand at the rope.

"Pince cast some wards around the entrance, I remember. I wonder if they react to everyone trying to pass through, or if Pince would be allowed past without harm."

"I wonder if Filch would be exempt too?" George/Filch mused.

The brothers looked at each other's Polyjuiced faces. Their sour expressions broke into impish grins.

"Let's find out!"

Fred/Pince gripped the rope with one gnarled, feminine hand and, breathing out slowly, unhitched it from its hook and let it fall to the side.

"On the count of three. One..."

"...two..."

"THREE!" the brothers yelled as they leapt side-by-side into the Restricted Section.

Nothing happened.

The boys opened their eyes, not realized they'd closed them, and looked around. There were no flashing lights, no alarms, no magical traps being sprung.

"Hunh. Well, that's..."

"...boring."

"How dull."

George scanned the signs on the shelves. "Come on, we are reaching the end of our Polyjuice time. We need to find Lockhart's collection."

"Let's split up. First one to find Lockhart's stuff gets to eat the first Ogle Fruit."

"You're on!"

George/Filch limped left, Fred/Pince scuttled right, each moving as fast as he could in his borrowed body. They scanned the shelf labels as they went, having to resist the great temptation to investigate the books. Time was of the essence and they had to find their prize.

It was Fred/Pince who found the Lockhart Collection, stowed away in six mauve and purple boxes on a bottom shelf near the back of the Restricted Section. He giggled and hummed to himself as he pulled the boxes out one by one, checking the contents, and shoving them back.

 _The Joye of Snacks_ was in the fifth box. Fred/Pince plucked it out with a cry of triumph. The book felt warm, alive, and imbued with sensual promise. On the cover was an illustration of a very pretty witch wearing only an apron, a chef's hat, and a brilliant smile.

Opening the book, Fred/Pince quickly scanned the table of contents. Yes, the "Ogle Fruits" recipe was there, on page 71. He punched the air in victory, which caused the book's pages to flip to the checkout card at the front of the book. His eyes fell to the list of names and there, to his surprise and satisfaction, he saw one very telling name: " _Molly Prewett"._

 _Well I'll be damned._ Fred/Pince grinned hugely. _I've just learned two things. One: that git Lockhart stole this book from the Hogwarts Library originally. Figures! And two: Mum herself checked this book out! No WONDER she didn't want George and me to know anything about it! This is brilliant!_

Fred/Pince closed the book, still grinning, and examined the pretty witch on the cover again. She kept winking and puckering her lips at him. He held it up to his nearsighted eyes, gazing at it through Pince's spectacles, and he had a sudden urge to snog the volume. Giving in to the compulsion he pulled it forward and kissed the book's cover.

The book immediately latched onto his lips and nose and wouldn't let go. Alarmed, Fred/Pince yanked and tugged at it, grunting and straining to release its grip. He was thrashing around, banging against the shelves and rapidly losing oxygen. As he began to black out, he dreamily thought _hey, I've met the girl of my_ _dreams_.

Just then he was roused by a liver-spotted hand clamping down on his shoulder. An identical hand grabbed the book and pulled hard, releasing the seal it had formed around his mouth and lips with a sound like a cork coming out of a champagne bottle. Gasping for air, Fred/Pince looked up into the horrible, scowling face of Filch.

For a disconcerting moment he thought it was the real Filch, until the old man in front of him broke into a wide, grey-toothed grin and asked, "Are you done snogging your new girlfriend? Because I'd really like to get the hell out of here!"

"Thanks, George!" Fred/Pince panted. "Let's go!"

He shoved the last box back onto the shelf as George/Filch stuffed the book into a pocket, and the two of them ran for the exit. The Polyjuice potion was rapidly wearing off, and they just had time to re-hook the Restricted Section rope before they finished transforming back into their 17-year-old selves. The rope sparked briefly as Fred's now-normal hand let go. He had the feeling they had narrowly avoided a nasty hex or curse.

They silently high-fived each other and tiptoed to the library entrance. They checked that everything had been replaced in its usual location, including the hapless wastepaper bin. They let themselves out, locked the door behind them, and then split up. George ran down to Filch's office to return the keys, while Fred high-tailed it back to Gryffindor tower with the book stuffed down the back of his trousers under the robes.

Once they were both back in their room, they hugged each other with abandon, doing a jig and whooping it up like loons. It was well-deserved joy; they had, at long last, acquired their prize.

* * *

 _The Gryffindor common room again, many bottles of butterbeer later..._

"That's... amazing. You two have the luck of the devil. TWIN devils. You have to tell us the entire story in detail someday!" Alicia said, shaking her head in admiration for her friends' daring.

Lee had a lopsided grin on his face and he held his hand out to each twin in turn for a slap. Angelina eyed the two boys with a more calculating expression on her face.

"So this Ogle Fruit recipe _was_ in there?" she asked.

"Oh yeah, and lots of others that look good too. You know, it is actually ridiculously easy, when you get right down to it," bragged Fred. "We were able to make the Ogle Fruits up no problem at all."

"How? Where? When?" Angelina pressed.

Fred tapped her on the end of the nose. "Now, love, we can't give away all our secrets!" Angelina shook his hand off irritably and turned to George.

"George, come on now, how were you able to ..." she began. George held a hand up.

"Angelina, really, someday we'll tell you, but for now, we'd like to keep things on the Q-T. For Wheezes research purposes and trade secrets and all that jazz." He blinked at her. "You seem a little upset, Ang, why?"

Angelina huffed in frustration. "I think you boys – more to the point, _you,_ Fred _,_ tested them out on me in class the other day." She shook a finger at Fred. "Don't tell me you didn't! Everyone was fawning all over you, pushing me aside. They were even groping you! I actually saw McGonagall giving you the once-over with her eyes! And worse, I couldn't drag myself away from the crowd around you even though I wanted to! I was drawn in just like everyone else. It was not a great feeling!" She bit her lip. " I felt terribly jealous and possessive and I am _not that kind of person_." She glowered at Fred. "I didn't like it!"

Fred shifted Angelina on his lap, looking uncomfortable. "Yeah, well... actually, I did try them out." She glared and he held his hands up in a 'what am I to do?' gesture. "That was our arrangement! I found the book first so I got to try them out! You know we always test new products on ourselves first!"

George chimed in, "I'm sorry, Ang... It was our first batch, and it ended up twice as potent as we'd been planning for the Weasleys' Ogle Fruit concoction. They enhance your pheromone production to make people attracted to you. We toned it down considerably for the latest batch." He indicated a smiling Neville with a sweep of his hand, around whom by now the crowd had largely dissipated except for a few smiling stragglers. One cheek showed the clear outline of a set of lips. Some daring girl had apparently given him a smooch earlier. On the whole, Neville looked quite satisfied with how the evening had gone.

Fred said, "See? Neville volunteered to be a beta tester for us, and you saw, he was being treated more like an interesting, cute guy - not like me the other day, being mauled like some major wizard rock star." He grinned as he remembered his own experience. Angelina cleared her throat. Fred quickly put on a serious expression. George rolled his eyes and spoke again.

"It wasn't meant to be anything, we were just trying them out like every new product, Ang. They work great now, producing increased, but not overpowering, interest for about an hour, then the effect gently subsides."

Angelina looked from one earnest expression to the other, then smiled, hugged Fred and gave him a peck on the cheek, and jumped up. "Okay. I won't hold it against you. I'm heading to bed now, it's been a long night."

Alicia got up too. "I'll come up with you, I'm bushed. See you boys later! Thanks for the entertainment and the party. It was wicked." The girls departed.

Lee's face split in half as he yawned loudly. "I'm calling it a night too. Great stuff guys, and congratulations. I want to be the next beta tester, all right?" He grinned and headed up the stairs to their room.

Fred and George were left alone. George was peeling another butterbeer label, while Fred was rolling an empty bottle back and forth on the floor with one foot. After a few contemplative moments, he spoke up.

"George?"

"Yeah, Fred?"

"Do you think I should have told Angelina that what I'd used that day was actually our _second_ batch of Ogle Fruits, and that we'd doubled its strength on purpose to see what would happen?"

George raised an eyebrow at his twin and shook his head adamantly.

"Not on your life, sport. Not on your life."

 **~ FIN ~**

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there you have it! Fred and George survived their ordeal and achieved their goal: finding their recipe for success.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think. I had a great time playing with Fred and George. I hope to have them over to play again soon.
> 
>  **Umbridge's Educational Decree Number Twenty-Four** _:_ " _All Student Organisations, Societies, Teams, Groups, and Clubs are henceforth disbanded. An Organisation, Society, Team, Group, or Club is hereby defined as a regular meeting of three or more students._


End file.
